


The World With Hard Fingertips

by orphan_account



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: Angst, Can't remember what else, F/M, Family Drama, Haven't looked at this story in five years, Romance, Sexual Content, Won't be looking at it before uploading, otherwise reader beware I suppose, picked that up just from skimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-26
Updated: 2019-09-26
Packaged: 2020-10-28 11:04:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 86,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20777528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: The note was wedged in the door to her room, just below eye level. It said two things in concise, regular script: Hiroshi Sato was stricken with heart disease, and he was being treated at an address on the edge of the Dragon Flats Borough. It held two other details besides: Asami's name on the outside and Amon's signature at the end.A long-deleted story from FF.net about Asami joining the Equalists. Written in the heady days of Book One and now added to AO3 for posterity. The title is from from the poem "A Proud Lady" by Eleanor Wylie.





	1. Chapter 1

The note was wedged in the door to her room, just below eye level. It said two things in concise, regular script: Hiroshi Sato was stricken with heart disease, and he was being treated at an address on the edge of the Dragon Flats Borough.

It held two other details besides: Asami's name on the outside and Amon's signature at the end.

Asami read it once and looked up and down the hall. Dust motes drifted through the rays of the late morning sun undisturbed. She turned back to the door and cinched her robe tighter before sliding the screen open and leaning in to eye the room. It held only stacks of trunks, squatting flat and bulky around the spare furnishings.

She stepped inside and closed the door before staring at the note again. It stared back, a silent white square that _definitely _hadn't been there when she'd left for the baths. That led her to an uneasy calculation—how much time had she been away, maybe twenty, twenty-five minutes? The vague vision of _someone _waiting, watching, made her shudder. Asami dropped the note on a trunk near the bed and gathered the clothes she'd laid out the night before. She kept the door in sight as she dressed, only half-turning away to grab the next item. When she'd done up the last button and shoved on her boots, she paused to look around once more.

Faint sounds filtered through the walls: soft footsteps, doors opening and closing, the rise and fall of a quiet conversation. A gull called from the bay, answered by another. Nothing suggesting trouble or any danger at all, just the endless tranquility of an island that was supposed to be reachable by boat or sky bison alone. An island that was secure, Councilman Tenzin had assured them, from the growing Equalist unrest in the city. Asami stared at a spot on the floor where a patch of sunlight broke against a trunk, and reached sideways for the electrified gauntlet that sat on her bedside table. She perched on the bed and drew the glove close against her thigh before starting to comb her damp hair.

_Heart disease. _The words pattered through her mind. Her father would sometimes work, or rather, _over_work himself to exhaustion when a particular enthusiasm got hold of him, and he came down with a stuff-nosed, watery-eyed cold every summer. But heart disease was something new, something serious. Maybe it had to do with the conditions he was living in with his fellow Equalists. Assuming it was all true, of course, and not the bait for some new trap.

Asami stopped at that thought, closing her eyes and kneading her temples. Moments like these, when the careful rotation of thinking-but-not-thinking tripped up and allowed _Dad_ to connect with _Equalist,_ gave her a sense of vertigo; it was the feeling she'd had in her father's workshop as she stood over the red-lit tunnel in the floor and watched the elevator platform sink into its depths. Reality had unspooled with the rumble of gears and a gust of warm air from below.

Hiroshi Sato, joining and working for terrorists, _lying_ to her for years. A sourness slid up the back of her throat. The fact that she couldn't even trust this one scrap of information about him, that she had to think that _it might be a trap_...

She concentrated on breathing through her nose until the feeling subsided, and then drew the comb through her hair again. The note was here, so what _s_hould she do about it?

She should tell Councilman Tenzin first, since there'd been a breach in the Air Temple's security. But he left early for council meetings and would be gone until the afternoon. The other monks, the Air Acolytes—their whole purpose here was to be unconcerned with worldly things, wasn't it?

She could tell Korra's bodyguards—the Lotuses?—but Korra didn't seem to like them, so who knew how they might react? There was no point in rushing out to raise the alarm.

Asami set the comb aside and pulled a small leather case toward her, rummaging through the pots and wood-handled brushes within. She leaned into a small mirror propped against another suitcase and began lining her eyes.

Second, there was the fact that Amon, public enemy number one, was sending her notes about her father, who was himself a newly-minted wanted criminal. _Breathe, breathe. _That meant the police and Chief Beifong—no, the new one, Saikhan—would have to be informed too. Asami sat back to look through the case again, hovering indecisively over pots of eyeshadow. Telling the police would probably mean a raid on the location, like the Task Force strikes that were all over the papers. _Like the one at Future Industries._ It had happened mere hours after Korra had accused her father. Republic City's police force was swift to respond when Equalists were involved.

She settled on a dark burgundy and drew a fine-tipped brush through the stiff powder. Watching the metalbenders at work on her father's factory had been an education. She'd always thought their cords were for restraining people, but it turned out they could be used to slice locks and shatter crates as well. The Equalists had captured six or seven of Republic City's officers that night, with help from Hiroshi Sato. The cops would be angry about that and maybe even vengeful. And once she handed the message over, the matter would be taken out of her hands. No reason for her to even leave Air Temple Island, let alone follow up on what it said. She could let the authorities take over._ Again._

Asami rolled her eyes at that, and her mouth pulled to one side. Maybe it would be better, _smarter,_ to talk to her friends about it first and see if they had any ideas. They could take a look at this place on their own before alerting Councilman Tenzin and the police. They could do it today even, all of them; if she asked Mako, he'd—he would—well, Mako would…

Her hand, poised at her eyelid, dropped. _Well, Mako_…and the thought tapered out there, with nothing at the end. An absence of conclusion where he was concerned. Well, Mako might want to help, and Mako might not want to help. Mako might care, and he might have other things on his mind. The brush rolled back and forth between Asami's fingers.

She'd never known this side of things. It was humiliating to find herself reaching, wanting, and unable to have. To know that _something_ had gone wrong, and to be completely unable to find what it was and fix it.

_Except..._

Asami inspected her unfinished reflection in the mirror, the thin lines amid half-painted colors. There _was _something about her stay here, a collection of otherwise forgettable instants—a sidelong glance from a passing Acolyte, an offhand comment about the luggage she'd brought, Tenzin's frown when Jinora asked about her lipstick. A sense, new and unfamiliar, that she might be doing something wrong. Maybe Mako felt it too, maybe living on Air Temple Island was changing the way he saw her. He'd always been such a low-maintenance person himself, and maybe he'd like her better if she were more like—well if she were simpler, if she went _without_ all this preparation. Had he ever really commented on it before? Maybe all this time he'd secretly thought she was too prissy, too vain.

_But it's important,_ she wanted to say. Things like the patient application of paint, powder and cream every morning were more than vanity, it was maintaining routines and keeping up appearances when everything else was falling apart.

Asami had learned the value of that years ago, when her family had gone from whole to just father-and-daughter in the space of one night; routines had kept them both moving forward in the aftermath. And though Dad was still alive, losing him like this somehow felt worse than losing Mom. There was cliff at the periphery of her mind just past _Dad/Equalist, _and Asami could feel it inching inward. More and more of her life was crumbling away with nothing to replace what was lost. _Powder, paint, cream_ was at least solid, a practice rooted in years of habit.

But maybe if she could let go of primping for now, maybe Mako would like her better. Maybe he'd pay attention to her again.

Asami's eyes narrowed in the mirror. Maybe he'd like her better. _Maybe I don't care_. She finished her eyeshadow in two broad swipes, and moved on to the rest.

* * *

She drank her tea in the dining hall alone, as usual. Her hosts, the Air Nomads and the Acolytes, had already moved on to other chores, and her friends seemed to roll out of bed straight into their days. She'd never realized how long it took her to get ready in the morning until she'd come to stay here.

Mako, Bolin and Korra were in the courtyard, lounging on the steps and talking about pro-bending when Asami found them, and the news of her discovery was like a shadow over the sun. A loose circle formed as Mako scanned the note and gave it to Bolin, who grimaced at it before handing it over to Korra.

Asami waited, then ventured into their silence. "I know we should tell Councilman Tenzin about it, but I thought we might take a look this afternoon while he's still away. Just to see if it's true."

Mako crossed his arms. "C'mon, Asami, it has to be a trap."

Asami blinked, taken aback by the flat rejection. _Of course it would be Mako..._ "That's just one possibility," she shot back. "What if it's true? What if Dad's really sick. You just want me to ignore it?"

"Well, yeah." Mako started gesturing with his hands flat and rigid, as if he were trying to define the shape of the logic only he could see. "Hiroshi is an Equalist, he's insane and a terrorist—"

"He's _what_?"

"Okay, hey guys," Bolin's voice eased between them. He looked at Mako "It wouldn't hurt to just check it out."

Korra was still staring at the note. Mako gave an aggrieved sigh. "Fine!" He sliced a hand through the air. "But only one or two should go, not all of us."

Asami didn't fail to hear the order in that concession, but Mako was ignoring her to lean over Korra's shoulder as he read the note again. His gray coat was brushing against Korra's bare arm. How quickly would _one or two of us _reshape itself into _no_ _Asami, it's too dangerous for you, just Korra and I should go_? How quickly would his insistent, ashy voice smother any of her arguments to the contrary?

When Asami didn't respond to his decision, Mako added, "It's too much of a risk to try anything else."

Korra jumped when he spoke, and the thin paper tore in her grip. She winced and offered Asami an apologetic look. "Sorry Asami, I didn't mean to do that. It's just that..."

She averted her eyes and her shoulders slumped in some internal defeat. Asami recalled the story of the ambush beneath Avatar Aang's statue, and remembered the sight of the Wolfbats falling one after another to Amon, and her smoldering resentment curled in on itself.

Air Temple Island was the last safe sanctuary for the Avatar, and s_he_ was the cause of it being compromised by the Equalists. It was _her_ father who had given them the weapons and explosives that shattered the arena and sabotaged the police.

Asami swallowed the last of her self-pity and politely rescued the note from Korra's hands. All eyes were on her now, waiting for an opinion on Mako's compromise. Asami tucked the paper into a pocket and decided that it had been a mistake to go to her friends after all. "I'll ask Councilman Tenzin and the police," she said with a smile. "That should take care of it."

The declaration earned mumbles of agreement all around, and the group broke apart. Mako and Korra turned away together, his hand going between her shoulders in a subdued touch. His quiet _are you okay?_ drifted back as they moved to the edge of the courtyard. Asami watched them for a moment, then turned with a scuff of her boot against the dusty stone to walk the other way.

Her direction led her away from the temple. There were hours to go before Tenzin would be back and she didn't like thought of waiting for him while surrounded by the Acolytes' untroubled peace. She could take a trip to city instead, of course. But Asami imagined herself standing alone on the empty ferry deck, no purpose or end in mind, and let the idea go.

She let her steps drift diagonally until she'd left the walkway altogether and was walking on the uneven moss. A stand of trees nearby looked invitingly isolated, and while nature hikes were low on her list of preferred pastimes any occupation would do right now.

The woods were carpeted with dead leave. Asami kicked through them, moving between slender trunks while trying halfheartedly to guess what types of trees they were. After a few minutes, a sharpening of the air suggested she was getting close to the shore. The strident ocean began to drown out chirps and rustles and then she found herself at the edge of a low bluff overlooking Yue Bay.

A set of steps, packed dirt propped up by worn boards, led down the steep face. At their bottom was a beach that was little more than a rocky strip wedged against the cliff. With nothing better to do, Asami walked its length.

At the far end was a piece of driftwood, an uprooted tree stripped of branches and bleached white in its journey here. Asami stopped near the tangle of remaining roots and leaned against the trunk, crossing her arms as she looked out at the bay. The jostling water, alternating blue and incandescent white in the sun, lifted a stray memory of her swimming pool back home. The last time she'd seen it had been with Mako and Bolin. They'd been lively and playful in the pale water, overwhelmed by her house and her life; it had been so easy to offer them a place to stay after the arena. It had been so nice to see Mako unwind with relief as he accepted.

And now—now she had nothing to offer him, nothing in all her packed trunks that could help _anyone_. Now she was another house guest, aimless and dependent. She didn't know when, or _if_, she'd ever have her home back. But who was she to complain, when that was what Mako and Bolin had lived with their whole lives?

_Because they're still a team, they're still the Fire Ferrets. _It was a sulky thought, but the 'Future Industries' part peeled away from the team name name like a sticker. Mako and Bolin had each other, and they had Korra. _Asami Sato, broke non-bender_ couldn't be part of that.

All she was now was a link to the Equalists, her name invoking the company that was their front. She couldn't stop the newspapers and radio shows from talking about it, couldn't do anything about the third-hand gossip shared between former acquaintances who wouldn't return her calls. Even distant relatives had refused her. Asami squinted at the beach, digging her nails into her elbows. _It's no use crying, tears don't change anything. _

She covered her face, wishing that that alone could divide her from the rest of world, from radicals and pro-benders and boys. She wished she could go for a drive, or go racing, do _something_.

But the Future Industries test track was probably being dismantled by the city right now in their search for information. She wiped her eyes and let her hands fall back to her side.

A crunch of footsteps broke over the sound of the water, followed by a shout. "Hey Asami!"

Bolin was hurrying toward her, waving. Asami levered herself off the driftwood as he approached, wondering if it was news or pity that had sent him after her. He stopped in front of her and shot a glance up the cliff, and then drew into himself by hunching his broad earthbender shoulders.

"Listen, if you want to go look for your Dad alone, I can go with you." Bolin fidgeted with the pale green piping of his collar. "I mean, uhhh...if you want to be not totally alone when you look for him." He held up both hands, eyes wide and garden-bright. "I won't say anything to Mako, or even Korra."

_So it's pity, then._ She must have been so obvious back at the courtyard if _Bolin_ had seen it, and now he was going to try to cheer her up. Her reply came out rushed. "Bolin if this is about me and Mako—you don't have to—"

"Nononono," Bolin cut her off with equal haste. "I just…" His gaze slid off to the horizon and he rubbed the back of his head. For a moment the pensive pose reminded Asami of his older brother, of Mako's inarticulate, closed-off distance. "I just think it's good to…get to see family—uh, in case anything happens. You know? And Mr. Sato's crazy and all—_sorry, sorry_—but he's your Dad, so you should be able to see him."

He capped the solemn half-thought with a sidelong grin and a shrug, resuming his expansive confidence. "Plus, it'd be great to get off this boring island, right?" He stuck his hands in his pockets and pivoted, kicking one foot idly. A rock several feet away jumped and bounced into the water.

His optimism was infectious and Asami couldn't help her answering smile. She felt lifted by Bolin's brightness, it belonged to the beautiful day and surroundings much better than her own mood. _Heart disease _and _seeing Dad again_ settled under the promise of action and support.

She allowed a quiet anticipation to unfurl. "Well, alright…"


	2. Chapter 2

On the ride to the mainland, they decided that a low-key approach would be best. Asami led Bolin from the ferry terminal to a large shed on the edge of the harbour, a city storage locker for the things abandoned and lost that littered the docks. With Tenzin's help she'd been allowed to store a few vehicles of her own in it. She wheeled her moped around coils of rope and netted glass buoys and out into the fresh air. Bolin lowered the corrugated tin door behind her.

The sound of the engine starting was bracing. The familiar sensations—her knees against the frame, her boots propped on the footrests, the rubber grips beneath her hands—added to Asami's growing cheer. Bolin's arms around her waist grew tight, then tighter as Asami pushed the machine to its limits through the streets of Republic City.

The address given in the note was a part of town unfamiliar to her, bordering the industrial district. Asami parked the moped in an alley several streets away and parted ways with Bolin. They approached the designated street from opposite directions, weaving between streams of tired-looking men and women toward the building where her father was supposed to be. It turned out to be a low gray structure that looked as if it should have been demolished decades ago. Missing chunks of masonry along the corners gave it a moth-eaten look, and the few windows that weren't broken were blank behind layers of dust. There were two doors, both blocked with sheets of plywood.

After a quarter of an hour, Asami met again with Bolin on the sidewalk opposite the derelict building. He leaned against a lamppost and shrugged at her.

"Just a little bit longer, okay?" A faint plaintiveness in her words revealed more than she liked, but Bolin already knew how she felt. "I'll buy you something to eat after this."

That sounded wrong as soon as she said it—she remembered Mako's bewilderment as he uncovered each successive facet of her wealth, and the way he kept turning down her simple gifts—but Bolin smiled wide and patted his stomach. "You've got a deal."

Asami went back to scanning the building, imagining the bleak disarray that must be the interior. An elbow in her side interrupted her. Bolin jerked his thumb at a second-story window set in the wall perpendicular to the street. In the oblique view, Asami saw a twitch of motion and the dim, momentary silhouette of someone looking out. It wasn't much but it was good as they were going to get unless they wanted to try breaking in right now, in broad daylight. She turned to Bolin and nodded. The next phase of the plan was hashed out over dumplings, Bolin assuring her around a mouthful of food that he was fine with going back at night. They made it back to the docks just in time for the late afternoon ferry. The entire trip had taken less than two hours.

* * *

Asami asked some open-ended questions of the ferry's captain and found that the vessel's schedule could be extended to after hours, for passengers willing to reimburse him for the extra gasoline. The cost of which, incidentally, tripled after sunset. She paid in advance.

The first trickle of nervousness came in the evening, as she waited for Councilman Tenzin to ask about the note. He made no mention of it—it seemed no one had brought it to his attention yet—and between the children's antics and gloomy talk of council proceedings, distractions were plentiful enough to avoid the topic altogether. Asami was able to retire to her room early without causing comment.

A sense of crisp preparation took over once she was safely alone. Asami swapped her fitted jacket for a black coat and tucked her hair into the collar. She lingered over a pair of goggles—she longed to take a Satomobile, or even her moped, back to the location, but they would make too much noise at this time of night—and picked up the heavy electrified glove instead. She slid the weapon over her hand and pressed the pads of her fingers to the thin metal plates inside. It lit in crackling blue.

It had been over two weeks since she'd used it on her father. Since she'd walked down the cement slope alone and stepped into an immense subterranean space that must have taken months, if not years, for him to carve out. Her father had been ringed by chi blockers. He'd looked guilty for a moment, just a moment, before pleading with her, asking her to join him. He'd been so, so certain that she would.

Asami curled her fingers and watched electricity race along her palm. It had happened so fast, but every second of it stayed with her after: the shock crystallizing into horror as she listened to him hiss at Mako, the pained confusion when he apologized to her and then spoke as if hating benders was right and good, the twist of anger when he expected that she would just throw everything away and follow him into insanity. She'd turned the glove on him out of equal parts anger and righteousness.

He was by no means a young man, and how many volts had she put through his chest? She let up on the plates and slid the gauntlet off. She'd gotten by for years without using it; she could risk leaving it behind this time. She slid the note from her discarded clothes and pocketed it, then blew out the candle in the lantern and left.

Bolin met her by the ferry, his earthbender's green sash nowhere in sight and a shapeless cap pulled low over his black hair. As they stepped onto the bobbing deck the weight of the mission settled in, and their trivial conversation—_any trouble getting out? Hope it doesn't start raining on the way back—_was strained between long pauses.

A series of trolley rides, each one emptier than the last, carried them back to the street. The building still looked utterly deserted, night spilling in and out of the gaping windows, but the glow of the streetlights outlined tire tracks in the muddy street.

Bolin insisted on going first. He ran up to the alley adjoining the building with his face screwed up and his shoulders hunched, in imitation of the taut, focused bearing of a metalbender. Asami followed him, suspecting he was playacting a little to counteract the fear they both were feeling. And of course Bolin had so much more to lose if they were somehow caught.

By the time she got through the shadows in the alley, Bolin was already forcing bricks out of the building's facade with muted thumps. One last punch from the side of his fist made the exposed bricks line up neatly in a light shower of dust.

He bowed her to the impromptu ladder. "Miiilady."

Asami was oddly touched by the silly gesture. She put her hand on his forearm and squeezed, looking into his eyes. "Thanks Bolin. I won't be long." She turned to the wall and took hold of the first set of steps, breathed in determination, and with an upward _push_ started the climb. She refused to think about the height or what she was going to do at the top. But her qualms grew stronger as she closed the distance to the window anyway. She almost hoped that it was a trap, because what if he really was sick and being kept in this horrible dump_? But no, how could we get away in time if they're out to get us? _

She reached the last set of bricks, leaving at the window. She steadied herself with a hand on the frame and peered inside. It was a small room, lit by an old-fashioned lantern hanging from the ceiling. Oiled furniture was nestled on rugs and a few paintings were spaced along the walls. It looked nothing like the building's outside. It looked like it could have come straight from her house. Save for the high metallic hospital bed in the center of the opposite wall. The occupant appeared to be sleeping and with a start, Asami recognized her father. For a moment, the plain realization that _it was true_ froze her in place.

Their plan had been vague beyond this point, but the next logical step would be to climb down and return to Air Temple Island with a report. Asami's ankles began to tremble as she held there, balanced tiptoe on the bricks. She twisted enough to look over and down at Bolin, who'd made himself comfortable against the opposite wall. He saw her and held up his hands. _Well?_

Asami nodded to him, and suddenly knew that she would be going inside. She turned back to the window and slid it open, then swung a knee onto the ledge. A hissed "Asami," glanced off her back as she dropped onto the soft carpet.

Sneaking was not an art she'd often needed to practice, but hundreds of hours in dance lessons and practicing self-defense forms had at least given her a feeling for moving with some care. She closed the window behind her and crossed to the bed with light steps. Hiroshi was in green silk pajamas—his favorite pair, a gift from Asami's mother—and his arms lay limp and straight atop the coverlet draped over most of his body. His spectacles lay folded on a bedside table, next to a tray holding a pitcher and green and brown glass bottles. His face was pallid beneath his neat mustache, and still.

She used find him asleep at his desk all the time. A fearful need to see him move _now_, to have him open his eyes, made her reach for the back of his hand.

"Dad?" she whispered.

"Let him sleep. He needs the rest."

Asami spun around, falling into a defensive half-crouch and glaring around the room. The low voice had come from a corner that had been empty, she _knew_ it had been, but now the dim light outlined someone seated there. Their face was white beneath a deep hood. Her breath caught. _Amon._

Her heartbeat thrummed through her chest as he stood slowly. She'd never seen Amon up close, only glimpsed him in the arena, heard the ominous speeches crackling in over music on the radio. Korra and Bolin had actually faced him, and their descriptions—_scary, like some kind of spirit, he said he would destroy me_—only added to the awareness that he was an intensely dangerous person. A spirit would be an improvement; the looming figure, in heavy clothes the color of iron and rust, was all too solid. Asami felt the absence of electrified gauntlet keenly, and wished she had all its power to place between Amon and herself.

Amon, however, remained standing where he was, though he was was no less intimidating for his immobility. "Ms. Sato. I sent the message in good faith. You are not in danger."

Asami found herself watching the red circle at the top of the mask as he spoke. The low-pitched voice was the same as the broadcasts, there was no doubt it _was_ him, but his tone—it was mild, and Asami was unbalanced by the sense that Amon was gently chiding her for her reaction. She kept her hands up and sharpened her glare. "Why?"

The hood dipped slightly. "Hiroshi speaks often of you. His wish is for you to join him in our cause."

Provoked, she tightened her fists. "I'm not here to do that."

"I know." Amon spoke with measured precision, as if his words had to match to the rigid mask they issued from. "But I believe the stress of separation from his family has contributed to this illness."

He finally moved, scattering the shadows as he paced to the window and looked out. Asami wound tighter. She thought of Bolin, oblivious in the alley below, and hoped he'd moved somewhere safer.

"Hiroshi is a friend as well as an ally, and I do not want him to suffer more than he already has for his devotion to our cause." Amon turned away from the window, and Asami caught a glint of eyes behind the mask, looking directly at her. "And I assumed you would be concerned about his well-being."

Asami glanced back at her father. His breaths were shallow, as if unable to make the effort needed to lift his stout chest. That rotundity had always suited his hearty personality in her memories, but now the weight was unfamiliar, a sickish mottled corpulence. It dawned on her that she had never seen her father so weakened before; not when he'd staggered back from the glove's shock, not when he'd caught the flu after working too many nights in a row.

Not even when he'd buckled and collapsed in the sitting room, weeping openly as the healers began wrapping her mother up. Asami had climbed onto the sofa beside him then, wrapping her arms around his neck and begging him not to cry.

Tears gathered and slid along the edges of her eyes, and suddenly guarding against Amon didn't matter so much. Asami let her hands down and dropped her stance. "Of course I'm—" A thick unhappiness clogged her throat and she had to start over. "Of course I'm concerned. But why are you here?"

"I can't leave him entirely unprotected, and the usual guards would not respond well to your visit." Amon spoke matter-of-factly as he walked back to the corner. He lifted the chair, clamping one hand over the back. He moved with a smooth, self-contained balance that reminded Asami of her best teachers, masters in their disciplines. Reason whispered that she had no chance if he really wanted to attack here and now, that all her posturing was useless. He had to know it, too. She eased her weight onto one foot anyway, ready to lash out with a kick as he approached.

But Amon merely set the chair down next to her and strolled to the adjacent wall to examine an ink triptych of Kyoshi Island. He made a strange figure there, the mundane pose failing to cover the menace in every line of him. Asami stared at his back for a moment before sitting gingerly.

She turned her attention back to her father, laying a hand on his arm and stroking the graying hair at his temple, listening to his soft, labored breaths. Losing her last parent, her only real _family_ was a concept she'd left to the indistinct future but it reared up now as an immediate possibility, undeniable and wrenching. She formed a silent, helpless apology, _I'm sorry for leaving, leaving you alone, leaving you to come to this, I'm sorry, please don't—_

An uncontrolled tremor started in her chest and crept outward. Asami bent double until her forehead touched the edge of the bed and clutched the blanket. A desperate, lonely sense of loss, _again,_ rose and she shuddered, trying to stifle a sob because she couldn't wake him, _he needed his sleep_.

She didn't notice the weight that fell on one shoulder right away, but slowly became aware of a palm settling there, fingers curling over the thin fabric of her coat. Asami looked up. Tears in her lashes broke her view into a blurred kaleidoscope, but through them she could make out Amon, a stiff pillar of leather and canvas burnished warm brown in the light.

"I am sorry, Ms. Sato. He is receiving the best care the city has to offer." There was genuine sympathy in the murmur, belying the fixed hollow smirk of his disguise. Asami was caught for a moment trying to reconcile the two. She realized she was staring and looked back to her father's face.

"That's good, that's…" The reply broke into an unsteady sniffle. Asami took a deep, shaky breath andpulled herself into a semblance of dignified formality. "Thank you for your help. I'm sure you're doing everything you can for him."

His hand lay on her shoulder a moment more, and then his presence behind her receded with a faint rustle. She heard a door open. "Our guards will be away from this part of the building for another half an hour. I will keep you informed of his progress."

The door closed and Asami was alone with her father.


	3. Chapter 3

She was conscious of Bolin waiting outside, alone, for every minute she lingered. Still, Asami hovered as her father slept on. He showed no change for the better or the worse, his health apparently indifferent to her presence. She wished she could leave a message for him, but no pen, or ink or paper was in evidence.

Finally, she gave in and touched a kiss to his forehead. Maybe someone—Asami couldn't quite allow herself to think the name as she climbed out the window_—_would tell him she'd been there anyway.

She skipped the last few steps climbing down, jumping onto the dusty ground. When Bolin looked at her, she only said, "It was true."

Bolin's mouth fell open and his eyebrows rose, then quirked downward. "Whoa, that's…"

"We should get back." Asami brushed past him, conscious of the stiff and ruddy aftermath of crying all over her face. She pressed the back of her hand to her cheek, trying to cool it. "We don't want to miss our ride back."

"Yeah, right," Bolin caught up with her, and they walked together for a few blocks until a streetcar rattled by. The conductor gave them a cursory glance as they jumped on. They were the only passengers in the car. Asami sat near the front and Bolin joined her with his hands in his pockets and his shoulders high.

She curled her hands over her knees and stared at them, listening to the clacking wheels as the car trundled through the streets. She recalled a brief period when she'd been fourteen or fifteen where her father had looked into expanding into public transportation. The plans never came to anything, though she couldn't remember why.

In the corner of her eye, she saw Bolin stifle a yawn with his fist. Part of her knew she was being unfair to him by sulking in silence like this, but the rest of her felt too worn to care. She'd been ground into featureless sand for the night.

The clanking noises slowed as the streetcar neared the harbor station. Bolin cleared his throat. "So when do we tell everyone else? Like, uh, Korra...and Tenzin..."

Asami rose from the seat. She didn't want to talk about it at all, but what she wanted didn't matter. Comin gout tonight, following the plan she'd come up with just this morning, it had all been a detour. Bolin was just reminding her of the correct course of action.

She could see the shadow of the Air Temple ferry awaiting them by the terminal, with a lone lantern above the cabin door burning a bilious yellow.

"Tomorrow," she answered. The word tasted stale.

* * *

Returning to her room unseen was as easy as leaving had been. Asami sat on the bed for a moment, then let herself fall back with her legs hanging over the side and one arm slung over her stomach. The day came back to her in fragmented moments: the grit under her fingers as she climbed the wall, her father's breaths. The beach with Bolin, the sunlit courtyard. _Amon. _Asami remembered the sudden claustrophobia of sharing the room with him and shivered in residual discomfort. Amon had sent the note, he'd put his _hand_ on her shoulder...

But he could have taken her prisoner at any time, her and Bolin, and he hadn't. _Hiroshi is a friend as well as an ally_. To all appearances, he'd summoned her for her father's sake. She'd never known her father to have friends. Business partners, subordinates, occasional protégés—Mako was supposed to have been one, and what a bitter thought that was—but nothing quite like friends, not since her mother. Maybe there was something that he'd found with the Equalists, some camaraderie, like what she had with the Fire Ferrets. _Maybe that's why he'd go so far as to build weapons and fight for them_. And now he was sick and it was the Equalists who were caring for him while his own daughter was preparing to hand him over to the police. Asami rolled over and closed her eyes.

She woke curled atop the plain linen covers, with daylight bright behind her eyelids and persistent tapping coming from the door. "Ms. Sato…?" Asami recognized the light voice as belonging to one of the female Acolytes, a novice who delivered messages and ran errands. _Tap, tap, tap_. "Ms. Sato?" She reeled to a seat at the edge of the bed, rubbing her eyes. A glance down showed she was still wearing last night's no-nonsense outfit, and Asami wondered fuzzily if she should pretend she was already up and dressed. But the clothes were wrinkled and streaked with brick dust. Sleeping In As Usual would be a more believable excuse.

"Just a moment!" Asami tried to force a cheery tone through the morning hoarseness. She fumbled with the metal snaps of the jacket before giving up and tugging it over her head, flapping her arms to free herself. It dropped to the floor with a crackle of static. She leaned over to unlace her boots, and stopped.

A square of paper, folded once, lay on the pale wooden floorboards.

She dragged the jacket back to her to check the pocket—no, the first note was still there, somewhat worn for having been crushed beneath all night. She lifted the new one, and opened it. _700_, down the paper in the same precise handwriting as before. _Was it really Amon's_? She stared at the numbers for a moment before grasping the meaning._ Come at this time._ It had to be today. The tapping started again, catching Asami between the blurry-dark sense of _there, last night_ and the bright reality of _here, now._ "Ms. Sato? I just have a message…"

_So do I, _Asami thought. "Alright, I'm coming!" She leapt to the door, and realized at the last second that she was still holding the note. She flattened it between her palm and the door frame and leaned on her hand as she slid the panel open a few inches. The young woman on the other side looked relieved.

"Master Tenzin is here with Chief Saikhan. He's asked you to come to his office."

Manners dictated that Asami respond to the news with a warm smile. "I'd be happy to. I'll be there in half a—an hour." They couldn't know about the visit already, they wouldn't have waited this long to ask for her. But a meeting with the Chief of Police still didn't promise anything good. Seeing them both would be a good opportunity to bring up the matter of the note, of course. A grey feeling settled over her.

It was already close to midday, which meant no heated water was left for the tubs. Asami poured cold water over her head and watched it ribbon down from the dark strands of her hair. She imagined trying to make it back to her father tonight. It would be a risk going at that time, just barely after dark. And maybe it really _would _be a trap for her now.

Asami rubbed her frigid arms and stood. There was only one proper option. She had to tell the councilman and the chief about the note, and the building, _everything_. Even if they didn't ask her first.

She decided to wear the sleek racing suit today. As she dressed, she contemplated Hiroshi's appearance last night, comparing it to how he'd looked in the underground factory. Both times he'd been so...so disheveled, so unlike himself.

Asami found herself folding both notes behind the panel buttoned over her breast. Her stomach knotted as she left her room, and she stopped in the hall._ I hate what Dad's done, how dare he lie to me all those years...but Amon said it's because of me that he's so sick now..._

But what could she do about it anymore? She'd gone to see him, and he hadn't been awake. There was no more room for evasion, no excuse to withhold information from the officials at all. Asami tossed her hair back and let a sense of duty drive her all the way to the councilman's office.

The door cracked open at her tepid knock, revealing a man in a metalbender's uniform who looked her up and down before stepping aside to let her him. He was mostly bald, with faded black hair sweeping up behind his ears in abbreviated wings. The rest of his face seemed to droop from them. Tenzin, with his angular beard and precise tattoos, was a contrast as he unfolded from behind his desk. His orange and yellow robes looked soft next to the metalbender's plated armor, and he greeted Asami with his usual benign courtesy. "Asami, thank you for coming. May I introduce Chief Saikhan?"

Asami offered a bow, and silently thanked the spirits that she would be facing this jowly, tired-looking man, instead of the razor sharp Lin Beifong. "Pleased to meet you."

"Yes." His heavy-lidded, disinterested expression didn't change. "Ms. Sato, I asked Councilman Tenzin to bring you here to help with our investigation of Future Industries."

Asami smiled with accommodating interest and attention as he went on. "I understand that you helped your father with some aspects of Future Industries' business, so I'd like to have you go over the accounting records with a few of our detectives, to see if you can spot any irregularities. Anything that could point to your father embezzling or misdirecting funds for the Equalists."

_Embezzlement,_ of all things. The acid feeling rose again and burned through her politeness. Asami crossed her arms, looking past Chief Saikhan. Tenzin's desk was just behind him, and she categorized the accessories while reigning in her irrational anger. _Papers piled on books, black telephone, ink blotter_.

She could just see her mother there, her hair just beginning to fall from its pins as she tidied a stack of papers on one corner before leaning on her elbows next her father, sitting in his leather chair. Her mother wore a tilted smile as she tapped a spot in the ledger where her husband had forgotten to carry a number. Asami remembered standing on tiptoes to see over the edge of the desk, stretching her arm to reach a pen because she wanted to help write numbers too.

And years later when she really _could_ help, Asami would catch another error and her father would shake his head saying _just like Jun..._

Asami breathed out, and let it go. _Of course_ he must have been funding the Equalists, they had so much equipment, it would be stupid to deny it. She didn't need to hear it from this officious, unremarkable man though, even if she had no real argument against his suspicions. "Of course. But I didn't really manage Future Industries' books, my father had accountants for that."

"Mm, yes." Saikhan rolled right over her objection. His eyes flicked to Tenzin before returning to Asami. "But there are some items which they don't recognize, and you might. You'd been working more and more with Sato—Hiroshi—in recent years, right? Our information says that he expected you would take control of Future Industries when he retired."

Asami wondered how they'd found that out. Not that it had been a great secret, her father had made his plans clear for as long as she could remember, his expansive words, _someday, Asami, all this will be yours _eventually turning into _pay attention, here's the first step to taking apart an engine_ and then _watch how this Cabbage Corp fellow's eyes shift when he's bluffing. _

She didn't want to think about how certain that future had once been, a map with a clear destination. And she _really _didn't want to think how long it all must have been a lie, what he'd really expected her future to be, with _them. _

"We'd talked about it." Her smile now felt weak and unconvincing. "But it was years away. I still didn't have any real involvement with the day-to-day business. I'll do what I can, but I don't think I'll be of much help."

Chief Saikhan studied her and cleared his throat. "Nonetheless it will be useful to have someone close to Sato—" A muffled chatter wormed beneath his words. "—examine the evidence and support the investigation—"

He stopped as the noise grew louder. It closed in on the room until Asami could pick out individual voices: Korra, Mako and Bolin, talking over each other. The door swung in and Korra entered first, blue eyes scanning the room until they met Asami's.

Asami wouldn't have thought it possible for her spirits to be lower, but at Korra's somber look they sank to the floor. The rationalizations that had carried her through the past twenty-four hours snapped like taut wires. Her hand went to her chest, feeling for the slight crackle of paper through the cloth.

Mako stalked in behind Korra, all downturned mouth and eyebrows, trailed by his younger brother. Bolin's faint "sorry, Asami," was overlapped by Tenzin's "Korra, we are in a meeting. What is going on?" as her friends arrayed themselves inside the room.

Korra looked back at Asami in a silent offer to let her explain_. As if it could help things now. _She addressed the confession to Councilman Tenzin and Chief Saikhan. "I received a note from Amon yesterday. It was delivered to my door." Tenzin's eyes widened at _delivered to my door._ "About my father. He's sick and so I went to see him last night." Damp resignation spread through her. "It was an Equalist center in town. Bolin went with me." The last possibility of going back there slipped away.

Chief Saikhan's face didn't change, but his eyes were bright beneath the lowered eyelids. He opened his mouth, but Tenzin broke in. "Asami, this is very serious. When were you going to tell us about it?"

_When_. He was giving her the benefit of the doubt and she knew she should appreciate that, but it was humiliating in its own way. As if she were child who needed to be prompted into good behavior. Which she _was_, because the answer, examined in the stark light of now, was _maybe today. Maybe never._ "I—I don't know. I didn't want to hide it."

Mako wove past Korra to confront her. "Asami, you told us you were taking it to Tenzin yesterday!" His posture was stiff and she could tell was flaring beneath the veneer of control. He put a fist on his hip and stabbed a finger toward the window. "How could you drag Bolin out there, in the middle of the night? He's already been kidnapped by them once before! What were you _thinking_?"

"Hey, I offered to go! I told you that!" Bolin piped up from his post beside the door.

Mako ignored him. "Don't you remember what happened at your _house_? Or at the arena? How could you be so—so _careless_?"

Asami was pretty sure he was holding back what he really wanted to say, which was _how could you be so stupid? _And he made it sound like she'd forced Bolin to go along, and done it all on a whim, without taking any precautions. And there was a notable absence of concern for _her _safety. "I didn't _drag_ him," she snapped. "And we were careful. Nothing happened!"

"But why didn't you tell us you were going?" This time it was Korra moving between them, pulling Mako away with a hand on his shoulder. "We would have helped." Tenzin cleared his throat meaningfully and she cringed. "Uh, that is—"

"We can discuss this at the station," Saikhan commanded. He drew everyone's attention as he strode to Tenzin's desk. His reserved demeanor had vanished completely. "Tenzin, I'm going to call ahead and let them know to expect us."

Dread clamped down on Asami. "Am—am I under arrest?"

"No," Tenzin said just as Saikhan replied, "Not yet." The two men exchanged challenging stares, before Tenzin turned back to Asami. "We should talk here first, get all the facts about this incident. It could be Asami doesn't even need to go to the station."

He was being kind again, his voice steeped in gentle forgiveness that she didn't deserve. Asami felt like a gesture was needed in response, something to show she wanted to help. "Whatever you think is best," she said. "I have the note here." She unsnapped the panel of her jacket and reached inside. The slips of paper slid against each other, the first note on top and the second…

_No one no one knows about the second one. _The desperate thought shot up like a firework and burst. She hadn't told Bolin about Amon being in the room with her father, and what they'd talked about, he didn't know that she'd been invited back tonight, _nobody knew._ Hope and defiance returned to her at once. She pinched the first note between her fingers, racing through the connections. They didn't need the second one, the address was what mattered, as well as the presence of Equalists on Air Temple Island, and that information was out in the open so there was nothing more she could do. Just one more time, just once, she'd see her father again before he was arrested. It wouldn't hurt anything, and who knew what was going to happen after they took him?

Asasmi withdrew her hand and held the folded paper out to Chief Saikhan.

"What kind of medical care is available to prisoners?" she heard herself asking.

* * *

Tenzin left to alert the White Lotus guards while Saikhan spoke to Asami and the others in turn. Mako and Korra had little to say, but Bolin gave an antic retelling of last night's escapades. Asami followed where he left off, describing the room and her father's condition in detail, excising the part about the third person in the room with them.

Saikhan waited until Asami concluded her account, then informed her that he would withhold further questions until they were downtown. Her friends made noises of dissent, but relented when Asami, hiding her own reluctance, assured them she'd be fine. She was allowed to fetch her purse from her room before Saikhan led her out of the building and toward the dock. The guards' hard stares beneath their peaked blue and white caps followed her the whole way.

Asami waited on a bench as Saikhan made arrangements for the ferry to leave ahead of schedule. A shadow crossed the boards, and then Korra was sitting tentatively and wrapping her fingers around the edge of the seat. "Hey, Asami." Her voice was low. "I'm sorry about your Dad."

"Thank you." A White Lotus guard watched them with fierce attention from a few yards away. Asami turned her head toward Saikhan, still talking to the ferry captain. She wondered if the captain was describing the way she'd commissioned the late night trip. "I'm sorry about—everything else."

Korra sighed and rubbed her arm. "It's just when Mako found out from Bolin—and we really did think that you would tell Tenzin about it."

"I didn't want to put anyone else in danger." She could say that much at least and be telling the truth. She still didn't want to, that's why she was going to go back alone. _One more time. _

Korra followed her gaze. "Watch out for him. He works for Tarrlok."

Asami glanced back at the change of subject. "Huh?"

Korra nodded at Saikhan. "I went with Tenzin to his swearing-in thing. He appointed Tarrlok to the head of a commission to deal with Amon and Equalists." She looked down with a shadow falling over her face. "He said—I mean Tarrlok—said I was a half-baked Avatar. Because I can't airbend."

The shift in mood was similar to her reaction to the note yesterday, and her unhappiness pulled Asami from her own. "That's not true, Korra—"

Korra waved a hand. "Yeah, Tenzin already said. But it is kind of true. I _can't _airbend. And I haven't been able to do anything to stop Amon."

_And what would Amon have done if it had been Korra accompanying her last night?_ It was a blunt reminder of ugly reality; Mako had been right, she could have led Korra, the Avatar, straight to Amon. Asami thought of the second note again, the plan she was building for herself alone. "About that…"

"We're ready to go." Saikhan approached them just as Councilman Tenzin strode down the sloped ramp from the other direction. Bolin was at his heels, with Mako close behind, arguing. "—need to go with her. There's nothing you can do."

"We'll leave it to the police." Tenzin's robes rippled around him as he paced past with his monastic composure obviously fraying. "Do you need anything else, Saikhan?"

Bolin raised his hand. "Ooh! Do you need me to go too?"

"No!" Mako snapped, "You—" He looked at the chief's frown, and a wary look came over his face. He seemed to rethink his words. "Bolin's already told you everything about what he did for Asami," he finished.

Saikhan eyed the eager earthbender. "I don't think we'll need you right now, young man." He drew Tenzin aside to talk in a low voice.

"Aww." Bolin slumped with a moue of disappointment. Asami knew he'd been trying to come along for her benefit, so she wouldn't have to be alone again, but she felt a little relieved that she wouldn't have to worry about what to do with him. In some ways, she could sympathize with Mako.

"Knock it off, Bolin," Mako tapped his brother's arm. "You don't need to get in any more trouble for her." He didn't acknowledge Asami, sitting only a few feet away, and her passing sympathy switched off. It shouldn't have stung, the way he ignored her—he had every right to be furious, she understood that more and more with each passing minute—but it did anyway. It was strange to think that just yesterday she'd been thinking wistfully about ways to win him back. She tried to recall the last time her boyfriend had actually held her, or touched her, or even looked at her with affection. That first night before they'd come here, when she'd cried over the upheaval of her life and he'd been strong and solid and _present_. Not since then.

The mutual hostility had come later, when Asami had pushed back against Mako's ncreasing remoteness, and then begun to see signs of more to Ikki's gossip than just _Korra likes Mako_. And now it seemed impossible to think there had _ever_ been anything like love between them..

Asami looked back at the temple. The tiered, angular tower that rose high over the island was aglow in the early afternoon sun. She had a vague memory of visiting this place as a child, being shown around the public parts of the island—something to do with her father's business, or a maybe just a private tour. But for all of Tenzin and Pema's welcoming hospitality now, she was as much an outsider now as she'd been back then.

"Asami, I'm going to accompany you and Chief Saikhan to the station, but we really should leave now." Tenzin's gentle reminder called her back to the present.

"Alright." She rose from the bench.

Korra stood as well and surprised Asami with a crushing hug. "We'll see you later, okay?"

Bolin stood to one side as she started to follow Saikhan and Tenzin and saluted her. "Good luck, Asami."

"Thanks. I'm sorry for bringing you guys into this." She spared them both a smile and sped up before they could say anything else.

She was nearing the ferry when footsteps and a quiet "Asami" came from close behind. She resisted a petty impulse to pretend she hadn't heard, and forced herself to stop and turn around. Mako's wore the pinched expression he got when struggling to express himself. She'd thought it was cute when they'd first gone out, told herself it was charming the way he got tongue-tied when emotional.

He tilted his head, then looked away. Asami let him think, knowing where this was going. She examined the ebbing hurt of rejection. One more ending among others, another broken thing to add to the pile of wreckage. She'd say the Air Acolytes' philosophy of detachment was rubbing off on her, but it felt a lot more like she was just giving in to the inevitable.

"I'm sorry things got so messed up between us."

Asami waited for more, but it was evidently the best he could manage. She almost felt sorry for him. Almost. "Me too," she replied. For a moment she thought about some final gesture—a hug, a kiss on the cheek—but found herself turning away instead.

She stepped onto the deck, boarding behind Tenzin and Saikhan. Korra, Bolin and Mako gathered together as the ferry pulled away from the slip. As Asami watched, a streak of red flickered across the dock and up Bolin's side, snaking around his shoulders as he lifted a hand to stroke it. They were a perfect trio, her friends, even without the arena. _The Fire Ferrets_.

Asami left the rail, and turned to face the approaching city.


	4. Chapter 4

Asami followed Tenzin, following Saikhan, through the police station's crowded lobby and past a high reception counter to a maze of desks. Metalbenders and ordinary officers in grey uniforms were chatting, or bent over paperwork, or talking on telephones, creating a constant buzz of rings and voices. Saikhan led them past all of it to a silvery-gray brushed steel door. It opened onto a wide hallway lined by ornate panels of latticework. The decoration did little to hide the fact that the entire thing was built from metal. Asami felt as if she were walking into a shipping container.

As they went further, she realized there _were _doors in the walls, visible only as slight recesses among the other panels. Saikhan stopped before one and made a curt motion, and Asami's heart tripped when the door slid aside to reveal a square, windowless chamber. She took a small step back.

"Really Saikhan, is this necessary?" Tenzin objected.

"Standard procedure, Councilman." He gestured to the room impersonally. "Ms. Sato."

_It's something new,_ she told herself. Her boots tapped against the floor as she walked past Saikhan, making dull, indistinct sound. _You've never been in here before. You're learning something new._ She sat at the small metal table, wiping her damp palms on her thighs before folding her hands in her lap.

Tenzin muttered and brushed past Saikhan, stopping next to her chair.

"I need to let my officers know we've arrived," Saikhan said with a frown. "Councilman, you don't need to stay."

"I'll wait with Asami." The Air Nomad's reply was very nearly a snap.

Saikhan hmphed and gave a stiff shrug as he turned away. The door slid closed behind him, disappearing into the wall.

Tenzin's hands were behind his back and from her seated position Asami could see his long fingers twitching against each other. "He's just trying to intimidate you with this room," he told her, looking over his shoulder. "It's a favorite technique of Lin's—Chief—former Chief Beifong. It doesn't mean you're in any real trouble."

Asami nodded and looked back down at her hands. Being alone with Tenzin was as troubling as sitting with Korra. Both were paragons of blameless, irrefutable _goodness, _kind, generous and forgiving despite having cares and concerns that outranked her own complaints. Being reminded that she'd let someone like Tenzin down made her want to fidget and swing her feet like a child. She crossed her ankles instead. "I'm just sorry that I caused this mess."

Tenzin heaved a long sigh. "These are troubled times, and the best course of action isn't always clear. Don't be too hard on yourself. The choice you had to make was not an easy one."

_But it was easy, it's just the consequences that are hard_. Asami's throat tightened and she nodded again.

"I'm sure your father still cares for you very much. But you must know how important it is to get him away from the Equalists."

She considered that, trying it out. _Get Dad away from them._ _It's for the best that things will happen this way._ _Being arrested will take Dad out of Amon's hands_. "Yes, of course."

It made sense, but the comfort felt brittle, ready to shatter the moment she met the reality of her father being put in handcuffs. The sour taste returned.

"I just—I just don't understand how he could do this. How he could join them at all?" The words churned out in pace with her thoughts, and she wrung her hands. "How could he throw everything away, and expect me to go with him, like there's nothing wrong with kidnapping people or taking their bending? He was always so…so smart, so kind. I don't understand how he could start thinking like those people, and helping them."

Tenzin's hand touched her back. "I'm sure he started out with good intentions. He's just become..misguided in his goals." Another sigh. "Like I said, it's sometimes hard to see the right path to take."

The wall scraped open and Saikhan re-entered accompanied by a tall man in a long blue coat. He strolled in, satisfaction etched over the aristocratic lines of his fac_e. Councilman Tarrlok? _Asami had met him before, he was a familiar face at galas, charity auctions—anything where the honorable Sato Family's presence was humbly requested—but notable mostly for his expansive sociability. She'd never thought of him beyond that, he simply didn't exist except as the affable and confident figure in blue saying, _Hiroshi, Ms. Sato, have you met…_

It was unexpected to see him now, though not particularly intimidating. Except, perhaps, as a representative of the high society that she'd left behind. Asami sat up straight and smoothed her expression, hiding any sign that recent hardships were affecting her.

But Tenzin seemed far more displeased to see him. He rounded on Saikhan and motioned to the councilman. A gust of air fluttered over Asami's hair. "What is _he_ doing here?!"

"Councilman Tarrlok is in charge of all matters related to the Equalist threat." Saikhan met Tenzin's glare with his own for a second, then looked down.

"Thank you, Tenzin" Tarrlok said smoothly, "for bringing Ms. Sato here. Don't let us keep you, I'm sure you want to get back to your island and make that your family is protected against this new threat." He slid into the chair opposite Asami with a pleasant smile. "Good afternoon, Ms. Sato."

Tenzin was turning red. "It's alright. I'll be fine," Asami assured him. Tarrlok was, in a way, right—she had no right to take any more of Councilman Tenzin's time than she already had. Especially not when she still held that second message against her chest, with no intention of sharing it. "Thank you for all your kindness."

Tenzin's departure seemed to steal the last bit of color from the room. Tarrlok clasped his hands in front of his chin as he regarded her. A slight smile leaked from behind his fingers.

Asami had lived a public life, and as Hiroshi Sato's daughter she had been accosted by more unctuous men than she cared to remember. It was almost a relief to be facing someone so polished from head to toe, who had such potential to be unlikable. She met his pale blue eyes.

"Shall we begin?"

* * *

"I didn't look outside the door."

"Did you _hear_ anything outside?"

"No."

"And how large was the room again?"

"Maybe five meters square."

"And who did you say was in there with you?"

Over and over. The councilman repeated questions, requested details once and then again, asked about the building, her visit, her father, the company, alternating between rapid-fire interrogation and offhand queries.

Asami's stomach had started to ache after the first hour, a persistent tension that waxed and waned with each question and successful answer. As with Saikhan, she'd removed Amon and the second note from her account, left no holes that could suggest they'd been there, yet Tarrlok seemed to sense the omission. She could feel him reaching for it between the circular questions, trying to trip her up.

He was obviously enjoying himself. His fingers were now laced beneath his chin as he watched, and questioned, and waited. Asami had resorted to staring at his hands when his face became too much. He had bony knuckles, with lines that spread over his thin skin like cracks.

He was unfailingly polite, but the courtesy was overlaid with a sharp, hungry attentiveness. He _wanted_ something from her and she had none of the power or influence that would ordinarily keep a person like him at bay.

Saikhan had participated at the start, but was quickly overrun by Tarrlok's far more detailed probing. He was leaning against a patterned panel, watching the proceedings with crossed arms and beetled brow.

"Ms. Sato?" Tarrlok asked again. "Who was in the room with you?"

"I've told you three time already. Is your memory really that bad?" Asami leaned toward him. Her patience was wearing down much faster than her resolve.

Her jibe did nothing to Tarrlok, though his urbane expression folded into something more condescending at the attempt. Saikhan stirred. "Councilman, I don't think there's any further information we can get from Ms. Sato. We need to start planning and make some decisions. The task force is assembling—"

"Just one more question." Tarrlok held up a hand. "Ms. Sato, you are a non-bender, is that right?"

"_Yes._" She didn't mean to hiss the word, but she did. She could feel her composure disintegrating faster. "What does that have to with this?"

Tarrlok overlaid his hands on the table, lifting an eyebrow in note of her reaction. Asami clenched her hands so tightly she could feel her nails pitting the palms. They'd been in there for what felt like hours, but he was as crisp and neatly pressed as when he'd walked in. "I'm not accusing you of anything, but given your father's associations, and this new…activity on your part, there is reason to think that Future Industries and its considerable resources should stay out of your hands."

"What?" Asami jerked forward, gripping the arms of the chair in furious indignation. Not that she expected to really take over things anytime soon, not while the company was under investigation, but still she'd meant to keep it going somehow, someday, but he was making it sound like—

Tarrlok sat back, opening up with breezy confidence. "Most likely the company's assets will returned to your control in due course—if it can be proven that it was more than a front for Amon and the Equalists. For now, we can't risk any more money going to the terrorists." He smiled beatifically over her outraged gasp. "I understand that you're a guest of the Air Nomads. You shouldn't need to worry about money until this is all sorted out."

_I win_, it was written all over his arch look, like he'd just lapped her and passed the finish line. _Why_ though, why was he going so far, why was he out to get her? Asami's head felt hot and light and she realized she had forgotten to eat today. "I am not. An Equalist," she gritted out.

Tarrlok pushed back from the table, and stood. "But you _have_ been meeting with them, and we can't give anyone special treatment." He adjusted his coat and nodded to Saikhan, who opened the door for him.

At the threshold he paused and spoke over his shoulder. "Do give the Avatar my regards."

Korra's disclosure this morning came back and it clicked into place—this was about Korra, and maybe Tenzin too, something to do with whatever problem he had with them. This man, this _politician_ was using the future of her family's company, _her_ future as some kind of petty, stupid challenge to the Avatar.

Saikhan followed Tarrlok out as Asami seethed in her seat. He didn't even bother to look at her as he said, "I'll have someone show you out of the station."

_Someone _turned out to be a bored clerk, who led her back to the entrance and left her there.

Asami didn't think she was particularly snobbish—not compared to some of the pampered nobles she'd known in her previous life, anyway—but the offhand treatment was a cap to the insults of the day, a clear message of how little she mattered in this city. The heavy wood door swung closed behind her as she stared at the wide sidewalk and the indifferent passersby. The station's high walls reared overhead. She fixed her purse on her shoulder and started down the steps.

Asami Sato, potential terrorist sympathizer and tool for a politician's squabble, marched off into the dimming evening with her head held high for the benefit of nobody at all.

After a few blocks, her temper had eased enough for her to check the time, and her pocketbook—she had enough yuans for a taxi back to the ferry and the temple, if she chose. It was the safe, wise course. Tenzin and Korra were at least sympathetic to her. Tarrlok and Saikhan practically thought she was an Equalist already. That alone was more than enough reason to abandon this half-baked idea of trying to see her father again.

A clock chimed, and an unreasonable voice reminded her that the time Amon had given her was ticking closer.

Asami tried to consider her options dispassionately as she stepped to the edge of the sidewalk and started scanning the gray-black traffic for a taxicab. There was no doubt that the police were going to act as soon as possible. She drummed her fingers against the pocketbook. Could it be tonight? If the metalbenders went in without knowing that Amon would be there it could be a disaster—but then if she went back and warned the police now, it would raise questions like _why didn't you mention this before _and _what did he tell you _from Saikhan and worse, Tarrlok…and one way or another it would come out that Amon had invited her to visit again and that she'd meant to take him up on it.

The idea of confessing in the middle of the police station, surrounded by severe men in their slate-colored uniforms, added an edge to her reluctance. Not even Tenzin's mercy could get her out of an arrest.

Asami stepped away from the curb as a blue cab rolled by. Of course it was wrong to even consider going back now, this day had been nothing but a lesson in how stupid it had been to go just _once_, and yet, and yet…

If the raid happened, would it happen before or after the time he'd given?

* * *

She got lost a few times on her way back to the abandoned building—city streets were much different when walking them instead of driving—and each wrong turn fed her agitated fear that the police would get there before her.

Bolin's handholds were still in place, just visible in the last of the twilight. She looked up, half expecting cables to come shooting down from the sky, and started scrabbling up the wall.

She slowed on the last set of bricks and tested her balance before moving her hands to the windowsill, preparing to open the window and swing herself inward in one motion.

It was already open, and Asami just barely saw her father's bed before Amon filled her view.

Instinct threw her back with a yelp and her fingers lost their purchase on the ledge. For a breathless moment she felt herself pull away from the wall, before Amon caught her arm. He lifted her up and through the window in one swift, sure motion and released her. The momentum threatened to send her tumbling onto the carpet and she took a few graceless steps before recovering her balance.

Amon was stepping away as she righted herself and Asami realized belatedly how close she'd just been—nearly pressed against him, his arm looped around her waist. For a second there she might have _clung_ to him.

"—was not certain if you would be able to visit." Amon was standing at ease, apparently unperturbed by the drama that had just played out while embarrassment crawled through her. She wanted to cringe away from his unchanging expression and cover the warmth in her own face. Could he see it in this light? She didn't like feeling helpless or needing to be rescued—it was so _expected _of someone like her—but a certain kind of strength had a magnetic appeal for her, as if it were the _potential_ of protection that_…_Asami cut the line of thought off and turned to her father's bed to hide her discomfort.

"I—um, I had trouble getting away." Hiroshi was asleep again. She went to his side, and hoped Amon wouldn't follow. "How is he?"

"Still recovering," Amon said behind her. "He was quite happy to hear that you had come to see him however."

Asami didn't quite know what to make of that, as gratification mixed with the unsettling reminder that Amon actually chatted with her father about her. "Oh."

She realized she'd been expecting in the back of her mind that he'd be awake this time. But what could she say if he was? _The police are going through Future Industries' accounts because they think you were embezzling. They've closed the factories and cordoned off the whole estate. I'm broke and living on Air Temple Island. I think Mako and I have broken up. _

Actually, he'd probably like that last one.

She studied his face in repose: the sculpted mustache and sideburns, painted with ever more gray, over his downturned mouth, the wide cheeks just beginning to draw tight over sharp-angled bones. He never looked quite right without his round glasses. She leaned over to hug him as best as she could. This would be the last time she'd see him for a long time, maybe the last time he'd be out of prison. She didn't think the Council would give him a light sentence.

And that was assuming that this raid or whatever didn't make him worse…but the police would be careful, she had to believe that.

"Can you tell him—tell him I love him," she said without lifting her eyes, trying not to think that she was saying this to _Amon_. "And that I'm sorry the Equalists—" She fumbled for some phrasing that wouldn't cause offense. "I'm sorry this had to come between us. This difference in beliefs."

It sounded trite and not nearly enough, but she wouldn't apologize for stopping him that night beneath the workshop, whatever else happened.

_But what about when he finds out how you led the police to him now?_ Her nervousness came back, barbed and writhing. They would be here soon, too soon.

"I will relay the first part. The other…" Amon came over to stand on the opposite side of the bed. "I do not think it would benefit Hiroshi's health to hear it."

"Oh—well, right." She half-turned away, disappointed, and took a step toward the window. "I should go."

"There's no need to rush. You should have half an hour before the guards return."

"Yeah, but…they—my friends might notice if I'm gone too long." She was just being realistic, not a coward, she couldn't be caught here...

"Of course. I notice you came alone this time."

An inarticulate noise from Hiroshi saved Asami from the need to respond. His eyes cracked open—blinked closed—opened again. He turned his head as Asami stumbled back to his side. The need to leave was swept away in a tearful swell of hope and happiness and worry. Dad saw her, he knew she was there for him, but he still looked so tired, so _dull_. She wanted to help him up, get him out of the bed, it wasn't like him to lie so limp, as if he couldn't find the energy to move.

Awareness seemed to break through the fog, his breath drawing in and releasing with a sigh of _Asami_. She saw relief in his weak smile. His hand escaped the sheets to take hers. "You're here. You've changed your mind."

That _assumption_ again—but her anger had no place here. The room had the same muted peace as last night, soft-edged shadows closing in until it was just her and him in a lacuna that held only family and the past. Both of which would start crumbling away again as soon as she left. "No." Her voice broke. "I'm just here to visit. To see you," she added desperately, as his thick brows lowered. The present was intruding all the same.

"You mean...you're still with those benders?" His voice was weak and wheezing. He let go of her hand and began struggling to rise on his elbows. "Asami—"

"Calm down, Hiroshi." The words were drawn out with reassurance as Amon eased her father back down. Hiroshi looked up, apparently noticing Amon for the first time. Asami wondered what the mask looked like to someone who worked with Amon every day. Would familiarity make that eerie smile seem comforting?

"Your daughter has taken great risks to see you," Amon said. "She came across the city by herself, at night. She's been very worried."

"Alone, at night?" Hiroshi's face softened with an achingly familiar concern. "Asami dear, that's not safe—there's the Triads , you shouldn't—"

"I can take care of myself, Dad." She reached for his hand again. "You know that."

"Of course, of course." His hand barely tightened around hers, and his eyelids lowered. "I am glad to see you, my dear. I just hoped that this time…" He faded back into sleep.

Asami blinked back tears. He'd only been awake for a few minutes, and just barely so; it couldn't be a good sign. "Is he getting worse?" she asked.

Amon resumed his usual impassive air. "He might be. This visit may have caused some undue stress."

It wasn't her fault, none of this was her fault, and yet it was…her dad still worried about her, he was glad to see her.

It shouldn't be possible to betray him, not after everything he'd done. She reminded herself of Tenzin's words, it was for his own good to get him away from the Equalists. She slipped her hand from under his unresponsive fingers.

"Don't blame yourself," Amon added. "It's a measure of your importance to him. He's always taken a very personal interest in defending non-benders against the violence caused by bending. Fear for the safety of one's family is a powerful motivation." He paused. "Of everything that he's risked for our cause, losing his family is the one thing he truly regrets. You have been very thoughtful in coming here."

_Amon _comforting her once again, telling her she wasn't to blame. Asami closed her eyes and smiled at the absurdity with a tight, bitter twist of her lips. She was utterly tired of this day, of the last few weeks. She was sick of being scoured by guilt and doubt and loss without end.

She opened her coat, plucked out the second note at last, and crumpled it in her fist. It had been so easy to hate the Equalists after everything fell apart, they were the faceless extremists that threatened innocent people and corrupted her father.

But her mother had been innocent too when the Agni Kais came, her father as well until he'd lost her—left alone to keep building Future Industries into a lasting legacy, which men like Tarrlok could take it apart because they felt like it, and it wasn't always benders who were to blame but did that mean the outrage itself came from nothing?

She was feeling the other side of it now, or maybe the shape of it. Tenzin's weary sigh, _I'm sure he started out with good intentions, the best course of action isn't always clear. _If the world turned hard and unfair—it had just barely for her, she knew, compared to others—but if it dug too deep too many times, left you angry, alone, helpless…if that's how Dad had felt, all those years ago, was it so unbelievable he could have turned to others who might understand? Who was she to just take that away from him and offer nothing else?

Asami opened her eyes, and studied Amon. From so close she could see the edge of the mask curving against his jaw and chin, the pale slivers of skin that disappeared into the hood. _He's just a man,_ she thought._ Dangerous...but human. _

Like Saikhan, like Tarrlok_._ But Amon was the one watching over her father. Something sheared off within her.

"I've told the police about this place. They found the other note." Asami opened her hand and the balled-up paper fell onto the bed. She met Amon's eyes, half shadowed under the mask. Her knees felt curiously weak. "I didn't tell them about this one, but they'll still be coming here, soon. Probably tonight." Her hands were sweaty again. "Councilman Tarrlok and Chief Saikhan are in charge of it. They started planning this afternoon, right after they questioned me. I told them what I knew about the building, though it wasn't much."

Her second confession of the day. It felt very different from the first. Asami looked down and fidgeted with the snaps on her jacket, trying to feel certain about having done it. The vitality seemed to be draining from the reasons that had seemed so strong just a second ago, leaking away beneath a voice that said with horror, _what did you just do? _It started repeating like a distant train whistle as she watched Amon leave_—_as figures dressed in olive and dull red shouldered past her_—_as someone was taking her elbow. _What did you just do?_

She'd meant to leave by the window again, Asami remembered. She twisted around but it was already shuttered. One of the figures was reaching for the lantern, and then the only light left was a greenish glow coming from the goggles in their insectoid hoods. Two of them exchanged low-voiced instructions as they maneuvered her father's bed out. He remained slumbering throughout.

Asami was guided to the door.

_I made my choice._


	5. Chapter 5

When Asami was just five, her mother had taken her to the theater to see a play.

When it ended, her mother stood by the stage and talked with other people in fancy dress. Asami leaned into her mother's skirt and held her hand, hoping she would get done soon so they could go home. She was yawning into her long sleeve of her dress when a woman in orange and yellow crossed behind the semicircle of adults, took one look at Asami and stopped to ask if Mrs. Sato's daughter would like to see backstage.

Asami recognized her costume from the play. The awe of seeing one of the characters up close, beaming and lively and _real_, was enough to make her forget to be sleepy. She begged her mother for permission to go. The woman led Asami up to the stage, which had seemed enchanting from her seat but turned out to be a plain arc of wood ringed with lamps. There were shadowed columns on either side and the woman told her that was where the actors came and went. Asami followed her through one, going from hot lights to a humid dark cluttered with painted flat icebergs propped against walls, bolts of red and yellow cloth lying in messy rolls, wooden swords shoved upright into a can like umbrellas in a stand. She spotted a sagging blue mound that had been a water spirit just a little while ago. There were boxes, ropes and pulleys everywhere being pushed around or pulled by men in dusty black.

They passed an array of people milling around, more characters half in and out of costume, pulling off their wigs and wiping away makeup. Some of them saw Asami and stopped to talk or give her smile. Asami noticed a ladder and looked up, way up to a ramp that stretched from one end of the stage to the other. She pointed and said _can I climb that?_ The woman laughed, told her it was called a 'catwalk' and showed her how to work the curtains instead.

Years later Asami could barely remember the play, but the experience of going backstage remained.

A hand was locked around her forearm, moving her briskly through the unlit hallway. Silhouettes hustled from one room to another, clutching fistfuls of paper or staggering under armloads of equipment. Asami felt porous, floating. Sights streamed through her, escaping before she could get a good look at them.

Her father's attendants left them at a turn in the hall. "They're taking him to the elevator," her guide explained, when Asami stumbled trying to follow. "You'll see him at the base."

The voice, though muffled behind brass piping and black fabric, was feminine and sympathetic. Asami spent some seconds puzzling over it.

It was at the top of a concrete staircase that she actually _heard_ her, and balked. "I'm not _going _with you."

Her guide went down one step, still holding Asami's arm. "I'm just following orders here. I'm supposed to make sure you get to the truck ASAP and in one piece." She started down the stairs.

"What_ truck_?" Asami recoiled and angled herself away, uncertain of anything right now but ready for a fight if the near future involved being thrown in the back of some van.

Weird green lenses turned on her for a moment, and the Equalist released her arm with a sigh. She reached below her chin and peeled the hood off. Underneath was a young woman with flat grey eyes over round, brown cheeks and a mouth pursed with impatience. Her hair was tied back and frizzing where the fabric had pulled it up. She crossed her arms and leaned against the metal rail. Asami noted that one good kick would send her over to the flight below.

"The truck taking you to the base," she said conversationally, and then shrugged. "Unless you want to stay here and get arrested_—_though believe me, Tarrlok's pet squad doesn't go any softer on _suspected_ Equalists than they do on the real deal. There's plenty of people here with fractures and broken bones who can tell you." She squinted up at Asami. The hood dangled from her hand tucked behind her elbow. "Sometimes they end up joining us _after_ the cops get through with 'em."

Asami plummeted from her dreamy remove with awareness of _where_ she was, _who_ she'd just helped. She wasn't an Equalist but she might as well be, she'd just informed on the police for them, set in motion the getaway now spreading throughout the center. The police would almost certainly arrive to an empty and abandoned building.

Asami put a hand on the wall for support as her vision tunneled. She lowered her head and her hair fell in waves on both sides of her face. What _was_ she going to do now? Run back to Air Temple Island and wait for Saikhan to come calling with his metalbenders?

_But I should be fighting Equalists, not helping them, what have I done—_

Gloved fingers cut across her view. "Asami." The Equalist was level with her again. Her eyebrows were knit together and the annoyed look on her face had been replaced by worry. "I didn't mean to scare you? I'm sure they wouldn't hurt you. But you'll be a lot better off coming with us."

She splayed her hand on her chest and opened her eyes wide. "My name's Maya. OK? I'm Maya and it's my job to get you out of here safely."

Her slow, soothing tone stirred up a familiar indignation. She was confused, not a _child._ "I can take care of myself."

The refrain echoed what she'd said to her father, what she'd said scores of times to over-concerned and doubtful adults._ I_ can _take care of myself_. Hadn't she always meant it?

_I can take care of myself even around them._ Like a gleam in the dark, Asami saw something she could salvage from this mess, maybe something she should have done from the start. "You said I'd see Dad—my father again at the base?"

"Yes!" Maya nodded vigorously. "You can go see him as soon as you arrive." She opened the hood and slid it over the crown of her head, then tugged it back down to cover her face. The goggles looked different, brighter and wider. "So how about I accompany you as you take care of yourself in getting to the garage?"

_Get Dad away from them. _She clung to the lifeline as she followed Maya down the stairs. It would mean believing that they wouldn't shove her in a cell—_I have to be too important, if Amon was sending for me—_or force her to join, somehow—_Dad wouldn't let them, he wouldn't_.

It meant believing that she could talk to her father, bring him around. But he had a bull pig stubborn resistance to force: if he was arrested he'd only hold tighter to the Equalist creed. She was his daughter, she _could_ make him see reason. _Dad wasn't always like this, he'd been good._ He was just misguided, like Tenzin said. She could take care of herself, she could go in and bring him back out safely.

_And maybe if he turns against the Equalists and helps the city, they'll give Future Industries back._

They came to a low cement room crammed with trucks, with backs opened and being steadily filled with crates and equipments. A handful of people doing the loading wore uniforms like Maya, but the rest were dressed in ordinary clothes, with dark bandanas tied across their faces. Orders and questions called out over the resound of idling engines. Exhaust was thick in the air and the congestion raised an instant, nauseated headache in Asami. It wasn't much worse than any Future Industries factory, but she still began to feel light-headed again, close to overwhelmed.

Two Equalists pulled cables to lift a wide garage door, letting fresh air in. The door was made of plywood sheets nailed together by a haphazard arrangement of two-by-fours. "That's our cue," Maya said.

She clamped onto Asami's arm again, and Asami was too dizzy to object as she was half-dragged to the passenger side of a plain gray truck near the makeshift door. She climbed into the cab on her own, just relieved to get away from the clamor and noxious fumes.

"As requested, sir." Maya spoke past Asami.

"Thank you. Go with Liu for the final sweep." Asami looked to her left, at the speaker.

Her back hit the door as it swung shut. The momentum knocked her head against the window hard and through an incandescent bloom of pain, she heard the transmission change gears. The truck began to move and Asami felt for the door latch with growing alarm. It rattled up and down in her hand.

The garage gave way to a narrow back street dusted with snow. Amon reached across her to block her efforts. "Please calm down, Ms. Sato."

Asami subsided immediately, if only to get his fingers off her. Amon withdrew his arm, but kept on watching her.

She wedged against the door, squeezing her hands over her knees to keep from clawing at it again. The rush of panic had eased when he took her wrist—her heart was beating almost normally again—and she couldn't tell if her remaining tension was from fear or self-consciousness about her overreaction. What had she been expecting, that Amon would just _walk_ back to wherever their base was? Of course he would be in one of the getaway vehicles. It just happened to be the same one as hers.

Asami rubbed the pulsing soreness in the back of her head, and fought every unwilling fiber of her being to make herself sit up and away from the door like a normal person. She turned to face Amon. Just past him the driver cast a curious glance at her, and looked quickly away.

Amon was still taller than her seated, though his shoulders were not quite as broad as she'd thought, their width was enhanced by leather guards that curved around them and went down over his upper arms. His gray coat was a coarse material, sleeveless over a plain black shirt. _Just a man. _

The traces of his actual face under the mask, the ones she'd seen earlier, were invisible in the dim cab. Asami tried to focus on the shadowed eyeholes in the mask. She couldn't afford to be afraid of him, not if she was going to see this through.

His eyes were a pale amber, like Mako's—or maybe that was the flicker of streetlamps going by.

"I'm sorry. I was surprised to see you. I didn't know I was being—" _kidnapped? Recruited? _

"Maya should have told you that you would be traveling with me." It was unnerving to talk to him face-to-face, see that somber voice pouring from an unmoving mouth. "When the building is discovered to be empty, the police will come to the obvious conclusion that we were warned ahead of time, and they will look to you."

To her relief, he turned back and settled into the seat, crossing his arms. "Hiroshi would never forgive me if anything happened to you." The comment glowed with a mild amusement. "You will be under no pressure to participate in our activities, but you will be in a restricted area and there will be _no_ contact with your young friends."

He said it matter-of-factly. "You may leave now if you so choose, but you will fall out of our protection. Regardless of your father's wishes."

A part of her shouted _yes, leave now, go go go, _pelted her with exciting images: smashing the window, kicking the door open, shoving Amon's mask into his face when he tried to stop her. But then what would all of this have been for? He said they'd let her leave, and they'd just wash their hands of her if she did.

Asami looked out her window. The streets outside the smoke-tinted glass were empty and and tinted a wet orange-yellow by the streetlamps. A more realistic scenario presented itself: standing on the sidewalk alone as the taillights shrank into the distance and her father vanished from her life again. She'd have nowhere to go but Air Temple Island, slinking back to face Korra, Tenzin, Bolin, _Mako_. For all she knew they would be waiting up for her, unable to believe she had lied _again_, waiting with puzzled faces for her to explain it all. _Hello everyone, I'm still not an Equalist, I just help their leaders escape the law. _And then—Saikhan, then Tarrlok, then, most likely, a jail cell.

Asami made up her mind. There was a course here, she had seen it. She just had to be brave and follow it through to the end.

A burr of static from the dash snapped her attention to the source, an unobtrusive box with speakers. A gloomy insight followed—Dad had put police scanners in all of their cars, but she'd always assumed he'd done it out of excessive concern for her safety. She wondered if she could really do this, turn her father away from the tide that had swept him up when he'd done so much to help it grow.

Voices were breaking over the scanner. "It's starting," the driver said, gesturing to the speaker with his elbow as his eyes stayed on the road. Scattered reports—_on the roof—approaching the location now—water trucks in place—_filtered into the cab. A sickly anticipation constricted in her chest.

Amon leaned forward and shut the scanner off. "The Lieutenant will have a report of it later." The driver shrugged.

The truck rolled on, passing the city limits and climbing into the foothills. Pitch-dark evergreens loomed over the narrow road and flecks of snow careened in and out of the headlamps' beams. Boredom stepped in to relieve her anxiety for the time being. Asami never liked being a passenger, not unless it was on a date where she could enjoy the comfort of burrowing against solid warmth. Especially on nights like this.

The unfortunate thought made her aware of the closeness of her fellow passenger, and she wished more than ever that Amon wasn't so near to her. Especially not after the incident at the window. She wished his eyes hadn't reminded her of Mako, of Mako's simple solicitous affection when things got complicated. She could use someone to hold on to right about now, someone to surround and support her while she tried to make things right.

But all that had broken apart in her hands and drifted away on a current and she would have to do without. Asami leaned against the door, cradling her forehead on the cold glass.

* * *

Voices punctured her cozy sleep, loud and close and inconsiderate. Asami curled down further and met empty space. Her head and neck ached.

She opened her eyes.

The truck was parked, and the cab empty except for her. There were two men standing next to her window, the driver talking to a gray-haired man. Asami tried the latch again. It didn't work, but the men turned at the noise and the driver, a reedy young man with short black hair and a delicate face, opened the door from the outside. Chilly air swept over her skin as she ignored his hand and climbed down from the truck.

They were in another garage, this one much larger. Asami could see an empty field outside stretching away into blackness. The driver began to chatter while she got her bearings. "Ms. Sato, my name's Wen." He was animated and energetic, nearly bouncing on his toes. "Maya had to go to a different base, so Amon asked me to see you to your room." He expanded with apparent pride at the mundane task.

"What about my father?" Asami asked, pulling her jacket straight and smoothing her hair over one shoulder. She was still feeling foggy, and now creaky tpp.

"He's in the medical ward. It's not as sophisticated as the one in town, but they have all the necessary equipment to care for him. He'll need to rest after the trip though so it'll be better if you see him tomorrow." Wen reeled off the answer like he was reading from a script. Asami suspected it had come directly from his leader.

"Shall we go?" He gestured to the door. "Uh, right this way."

'This way' led them across the field, which turned out to be packed dirt, crisp with a frost that crunched beneath her boots. The cold cut through to her skin but the briskness was invigorating. Once she was far enough from the garage, Asami did a slow pirouette to look at the rest of the base. It was ringed by rocky slopes, rearing into mountains draped with snow. The valley had to be somewhere in the range that sprawled north of the city. Several cement buildings were clustered around an immense warehouse near the center of the field. She could see paved paths radiating outward from it, leading nowhere.

_This is an airfield_. She remembered this project, her father had worked on and off on some revolutionary new idea with his engineers for years—aircraft that could be flown by just one person, like driving a Satomobile. He'd talked about needing a whole new factory outside the city just to build and test the prototypes.

She'd never known why he'd dropped the matter but, like the scanners, the unfortunate truth was slotting into place. She spun around again, taking in the _size_ of the base—he'd given up on this massive project, handed over all of the developed manufacturing property lock and key to the anti-bending movement. Comprehending that fact was as disorienting as finding the factory beneath their mansion; but there were no friends to rescue here, no enemies to fight, no point of focus to distract from the ground tilting beneath her.

She didn't realize she was sagging until someone had caught her. "Ms. Sato?" Wen's voice came from several feet away.

Asami stiffened, and then stilled as Amon propped her up. She was determined not to make another scene. She wished she could have just fallen down instead. It would be more dignified.

"Are you alright?" A flat-voiced query matched the impersonal arm around her shoulders.

_No, because your crusade has taken my father's life and his business, and mine too. _She shoved him away with a hand on his chest and stood on her own.

"_Yes_, I'm fine thank you. Just tired." If he noticed her sudden irritation it didn't show. He turned to Wen.

"You were supposed to take Ms. Sato to her quarters, weren't you?"

Wen flinched. "Yes sir Amon, just doing that now."

"Very well." He nodded at Asami, then stepped around her with instant unconcern. She watched him continue on to the warehouse, seared to the bone with the awareness of receiving his help twice in one night. The feeling looping through her stomach had to be chagrin.

"Uh, Ms. Sato? This way?" Wen disrupted her acrid reflections by leaning into her line of sight. He reminded her a little of Bolin, and that was a thought that Asami didn't want to look at at all, so she strode past him toward the building he indicated. Wen showed her through a disused lobby, then down a plain corridor that was barely lit by widely spaced sconces. They stopped at a door with a brass handle. He unlocked it, then handed her the key.

Gilded warmth poured out as the door swung inward. The room was larger than the one she'd had on Air Temple Island, and luxurious where it had been spare. The lamps—electric—were already turned on, illuminating deep red walls behind tastefully coordinated furnishings and décor.

It was the lacquered table, set with a tea service and a plate of bean cakes that did her in. Asami's bemusement became intense suspicion. She rounded on Wen. "What _is _this?"

"Ahhhh…" Wen scratched the back of his head, edging away from her. "I don't know," he finally admitted. His eyes were sea green, guileless and unguarded. "I never go in here. Amon told HQ to prepare one of the guest rooms when I radioed ahead to say we were on the way, get towels, food, that kind of thing. This building hardly gets used at all, as far as I know."

Unsatisfied, Asami swung back to the room and stared hard at each finely-crafted item. It wasn't like she had a reason to refuse, or to demand to be put in different quarters—her eyes kept ticking back to the food—anyway, Wen obviously couldn't supply an explanation for the extravagance. Asami fenced off her ire and put on her best guest smile instead. "You mentioned towels?"

Wen showed her the attached bathroom behind a sliding door—small, but outfitted with a real shower and polished brass fixtures. "We've got some people picking up the rest of your things from the Air Temple tonight," he told her as she turned a tap experimentally. He didn't see her smile vanish. "They'll think it's the police confiscating your things. It'll all be here tomorrow morning."

His air was that of a maître d' who'd managed to find her a reservation at the last minute. Asami dispensed some words of appreciation, thanked him for his help with a slight bow (which he returned with enthusiasm) and indicated that she was very tired just now so if he wouldn't mind…

Once he left, she let routine take over. Take off boots, align by door. Remove eyeshadow, mascara, lipstick. Wash face. Sit on cushion. Pour tea. Lift cup. Drink. She was too hungry to ignore her lack of appetite and she went through two bean cakes before her mouth turned dry and her throat closed up. She dropped the third and covered her face with her hands, propping her elbows on the table.

The Equalists were only going there for stuff, not for a fight; and her friends were all strong benders, Korra was the Avatar. They wouldn't be in danger with this. She whispered the reassurances to herself, willing them to be true. _It's okay. They'll be fine. _By now, the raid would be over and questions would be spreading. By now, chi blockers were creeping through the Air Temple's dormitories and she was drinking tea in a plush hotel room. _Asami Sato, honored guest of the Equalists. _

She drew her hands down to her chin and tried to push the guilt away. She was here with a purpose and it wouldn't do to get distracted. And if Wen could remind her of Bolin, maybe it was a good sign. Maya too, she seemed friendly in a way.

Asami rose and brushed herself off. Either way, there was nothing to be done right now aside from getting some real sleep.

She locked the door and, more for show than anything, pushed the lacquered table in front of it. There were no nightclothes that she could see, but the thought of sleeping in her underwear seemed wrong, too comfortable, so she unbuttoned her jacket and climbed into bed fully dressed.

She fell asleep wondering if Wen's friends would bring her the electrified glove along with everything else.

* * *

_She's in the underground factory again and when she looks up the sky_ is dark blue and splashed over with stars that are never visible from the city. She looks down and there are trucks pulling away, one after the other until she is alone. _Amon's hand closes on her wrist and then his arm is around her_ and she's embarrassed because that makes _three_ times now, and she backs up against a satomobile—her first one, her favorite, shiny and black. _He's leaning over her and she falls back_ to her elbows on the leather seat. She doesn't really see his face when he closes in, just feels it. The heat is almost smothering and all she thinks is _it's alright no one ever goes in here so it's alright…_

Asami woke, flushed and perspiring. It was too dark to say how long she'd been asleep or what time it was; some non-hour between midnight and dawn. She kicked the covers aside and sat up to wait for the heat to fade. After a minute or so, she gave in and undressed.

The bed was entirely more comfortable without her starchy clothes, but the dream settled in as soon as she did, layering its sense-memory, _you_ _laying in the backseat,_ over her. She cringed beneath the sheets, mortified. The car was nothing new to her subconscious, it was what she and her racing partner had used her first time, when she was fifteen and driven to recklessness with passion. And they'd used it again and again, there in the musty track garage with all the enthusiasm of explorers mapping out brand new territory between them. Even after that relationship ended, she had only sweet memories of that car. She managed to maneuver each successive boyfriend into its backseat at least once.

Yearning dropped through her like a plumb line. She wanted—no, she _needed_—

_Amon,_ it had been_ Amon_ in the dream. Asami flopped over to lay on her side, huffing at herself with disapproval. It was only a dream, an embarrassing and completely senseless dream. It was probably just a side effect of stress and spending so much time around him in the last two days with Mako still on her mind. But that she'd imagine it on any level felt unseemly, almost obscene. Following through, even to just disperse desire so she could get back to sleep, would only make it more humiliating. The rest of her would just have to drop the matter.

Asami pressed her knees together and curled up, clutching the pillow to her face.


	6. Chapter 6

The hot shower the next morning was like a gift from the spirits. Asami chose to be amused rather than disturbed by the presence of fine milled soap (lychee, not her favorite scent) and then lotion (moon peach, much nicer). The sense that they, like the rest of the room, were so much set dressing was nothing she could do anything about now.

She combed her hair with her fingers, then rubbed a circle in the steam-covered mirror, She sighed at her anemic face. The sleep had done her a world of good but she still didn't _look _right without some accents. _They might have added a powder jar or some lipstick. _

She opened the wardrobe, fearing a rack of skirts and blouses all in her size, but it turned out to be empty. She shook out her clothes from yesterday and pressed out the most obvious wrinkles with her hands.

There was a single window in the room, hidden behind heavy embroidered curtains. It looked out on a wide gap between the peaks where the cloudless sky dipped down into a shallow junction of slopes. A pass, one that might lead to the road out. The window latched from the inside and the ornamented shutters opened in. It would be easy enough to climb out this way, with only a few feet to drop to the ground. She filed the observation away, free of intent for now, and leaned on her elbows to breath in the fresh air. The fuss of last night had been cleared away by a full night's rest and she was a little embarrassed by the overtired thinking that had ultimately led her here.

But, she reasoned, there _was_ a kind of logic in having followed the flow of things once they'd been set in motion. She'd been passive and unhappy at the Air Temple, just fretting over Mako and her father, and she could accept this new situation as it was: she was now staying on a secret Equalist mountain base, she had a purpose here, and was working on a plan.

Her hair was drying into stiff ropes, which promised frizzing later. Asami took a final deep breath and shut the window. She ventured forth from the room with confident stride and no idea where she was going.

A truck was backing up to the entrance just as she stepped outside. Asami moved away from the exhaust and waited while the driver's side door opened and Wen climbed out. "'Morning Ms. Sato! We've got your things here, just like I said."

Her self-assurance wilted. Asami swallowed. "Thank you Wen. You can put them in my room, I'll sort them out later." She turned on her heel, not wanting to see them actually unload the suitcases and trunks that had been on Air Temple Island only hours ago.

"Ms. Sato, uh wait—" She looked back at Wen. His nose and cheeks were turning red. "I'm supposed to take you to Amon."

Asami saved the eye roll for after Wen had gone past. Was this how her time would be managed here, with a handler everywhere she went?

Beneath her annoyance was a quieter worry. W_hy do I have to see Amon? _At least it would be an opportunity to size him up, without a flurry of distractions and upsetting surprises. She suspected he was going to be the locus of difficulty in whatever approach she took with her father, the figure that could cancel out any arguments she made against this so-called "revolution".

They skirted the enormous warehouse and entered a smaller building in its shadow. Wen pointed out rooms as they passed. "That's the medical center—uh, Amon can tell you where Mr. Sato is—and down that way is the canteen, it's pretty small but there aren't many of us here—and upstairs—this way, please—it's mostly offices and meeting rooms for the heads."

"What's the big building out front?" Asami asked.

"It's the hangar, uh—" Wen fumbled as he caught himself. Asami enjoyed the minor triumph. She'd been right about the airfield part. It wasn't much of a victory, but it was something.

Amon was in a plain room, sitting at a square table. Several documents and a folded newspaper were spread before him. There was a second place set nearby, along with tea and buns. He set down an ink pen as they entered. "Ms. Sato, thank you for coming. Wen, you may go back to your duties." The young man jerked and bowed beside her, then scurried away.

This was the first time she'd been alone with Amon, and that left Asami at a temporary loss until etiquette stepped in to help. She offered a polite bow. "Thank you for your hospitality." A short laugh came from the mask, and Asami realized the nicety was perhaps a little too bland for the situation. "I mean, given the circumstances." He gestured to the second chair and she sat.

He took up the pen again and went back to the papers in front of him. She tried to read the dense writing upside down, but it was illegible. She gave up and poured herself tea instead.

Another cup sat before Amon but it was empty. She wondered if he lifted the mask to drink, or if he sipped the tea through a straw.

He looked up at last, turning the paper face down on the stack and pushing it to one side. "The circumstances are certainly unusual. Are your accommodations acceptable?"

Asami had meant to save inquiries about the extravagance for her father, but she liked the idea of testing Amon's imperturbable confidence in this operation of his. "It's lovely." She lifted her cup with serene poise, balancing it on her palm. The steam had a powerful, smoky smell. "Do all the Equalists have such nice rooms on the base? Or did you just happen to have a spare luxury suite laying around in case you had visitors?"

His response was another short laugh, rich and deep in his throat. "This base was donated by your father to our cause _after_ it had been built for Future Industries' business. The building you're staying in was meant as quarters for higher-level employees and investors. I believe it was to allow them to stay overnight rather than risking the drive through the mountains during poor weather, but you'd need to ask your father for details." He cocked his head. "It wasn't built merely for you, Ms. Sato."

Asami covered her twinge of embarrassment. It was obvious in hindsight.

Amon went on. "I keep a room there, and so does your father. Otherwise, it's not in use. I thought you might enjoy the privacy."

Asami took a sip of tea and found the taste deeply unpleasant. She looked for another point of attack, anything to catch him off guard, and found nothing. "How is my father? I want to see him."

"He is resting, but recovering quickly. The doctor thinks he'll be ready to leave tomorrow."

"That soon?" She didn't mean to sound skeptical, but he'd looked so sick just last night…

Amon spread his hands. "I did say he was receiving the best care we had available." He pushed the chair back and stood, then paced away with an oratory air. "Medical care without bending made great advances during the Hundred Year War due to the lack of waterbenders, but was pushed aside and ridiculed as 'alternate medicine' once Water Tribe healers returned to reclaim their place. But in certain illnesses, it can be even more effective than traditional water-based healing."

He roved about the room as if too troubled by the issue of non-bender medicine to stay in one place. Asami looked away uncomfortably and bit into a bun. She wondered if Amon really thought she was going be stoked into anti-bending fervor by a little zealous lecturing. She didn't think she had it in her to play along this early in the morning.

Amon stopped near her and pulled the newspaper from the bottom of the stack, handing it over. It was folded over to a second page article with the headline _Dragon Flats Raid Yields No Equalists. _She skimmed the short paragraph. It recounted the basic facts of the event, with a vague statement from Saikhan about the variability of intelligence. No mention of either Sato name.

"The police don't like to advertise their failures, and the press always obliges them. If you hadn't warned us, this raid would have made the front page and your father, among many others, would be back in the hands of the bending establishment."

Asami set the newspaper down carefully and gazed into her tea. Gentle ripples were passing over the earth-colored surface._ If you hadn't warned them. _The ceramic heat sank into the pads of her fingers.

Amon's reflection appeared, upside down. "Ms. Sato." She looked up. He had his arms behind his back and was tilting his chin down to regard her. "You are not a prisoner here, and you are not expected to join the cause. If you decide to leave we can discuss the terms. As I've said, you will be out of our protection at that point. If you stay, you may eventually be able to move about the base with some freedom."

Her doubt receded as quickly as it had come, under the novelty of finally knowing where she stood. She didn't like the sound of that _eventually, _though. For all his civility, Amon didn't trust her and she had no way of knowing how deep his suspicion ran. What if he'd guessed her real purpose in coming here already? Asami tried the tea again and struggled to not make a face at it. She eyed him over the rim of the cup while trying to catch some hint of what he really thought.

The leather guards were still in place over his shoulders and limbs. The excess armor seemed out of tune with the pleasant, prosaic setting. _Does he even own any other clothes? _It occurred to her that there was something almost costumed in Amon's unvarying appearance. Boots, coat, and armor added piece by piece to create an Equalist leader. But seeing him as just so many layers gave way to idle speculation about the person underneath: _what is he thinking right now_, _what does he look like,_ and last night's dream tumbled to the forefront of her mind as he leaned closer to her and placed his hands flat on the table.

Asami's eyes skipped from his arms to his shoulders to his chest before her imagination could start tracing the physique in any them. She settled on his not-face looming above her. The daylight brought out its pattern of sallow gold paint, writhing like flames up the bone-white cheeks and splitting around the red sun on the forehead. The tilted hollows of the eyes and mouth added to its spectral unearthliness. Amon's mask was ostensibly the most costume-like part of his outfit, but it still made her uneasy enough that any lingering sense of intrigue was dispelled.

She tensed against a reflexive shiver. This meeting wasn't going well. She'd already decided last night that being afraid of Amon wasn't an option, and seeing him…the _other _way…wasn't an improvement.

If she was honest with herself, Asami knew that stealing away one of his most important allies was going to make him seriously angry. Or whatever he felt in place of anger. And she was pretty sure defying Amon was a little like grabbing a saber-tooth moose lion by the tail. She sought his eyes again, that reassuring proof of humanity. In the morning light they looked almost grey, lighter than his coat.

Amon seemed to be waiting for her reply. When it became clear she had nothing to say he went on.

"Remember this, Ms. Sato: it was non-bender medicine and the Equalists that saved your father. Do you think the police and their healers would have been able to do the same?"

It was disconcerting to hear her own reasoning from last night echoed and transformed by Amon, elevated by his rhetoric of 'non-bender medicine.' Much as she was unconvinced by any Equalist arguments, his voice had a tidal force when he spoke like that. Asami set the cup down and dropped her hands to her lap. She ignored Amon's question and gave him a bland, close-lipped smile_. _"I would like to stay here for Dad's sake."

There. It was out and done and she hadn't even needed to lie. Amon, of course, gave no indication of his opinion about it as he straightened. "Very well. We can visit Hiroshi now if you like."

* * *

Her father was not only awake, he was sitting up and talking to a man with shaggy black hair and a long, old-fashioned cat gator mustache. They were hovering over a leather-bound portfolio spread open on his lap. He wore a dressing gown, but look neat and groomed with his gold-rimmed glasses perched in place.

"Asami!" Joy lit his face as soon as he saw her. Asami hadn't known until that moment how badly she'd missed that expression on him and she flew forward—ignoring the glare the other man gave her as he snatched the portfolio away—to throw her arms around his neck.

He wheezed a laugh and hugged her back, murmuring _sweetie _to her whispered _daddy _and for a moment she was ten years old again and everything was alright, it would all be okay with them. She squeezed her eyes shut and held tighter, welling over with a nameless bittersweet happiness that she couldn't bear to live without again.

It took a moment before the flood ebbed enough that she could draw back and speak. "I'm so happy to see you better again, Dad."

He held her face with fond regard. "And I'm so happy to have you here at last."

The spell of sentiment broke. She wrapped hand around his wrist and drew back, furrowing her brow. "You do know—you know I'm not joining the Equalists, right?"

He let her go and waved a dismissive hand. "Yes, Amon warned me. It's enough that you're here _with_ me, Asami. The rest can come later."

She looked back at Amon but he was merely watching the scene, unreadable as ever. The mustachioed man had planted himself beside him, holding the portfolio possessively. She chewed her lip as she turned back to her father. She didn't want to, but she _had_ to tell him about the company, his company. "Dad—Future Industries—the city has control of it. They've stopped all business while they go through the records looking for ties to the Equalists. I don't know what they're going to do with it."

She braced for his livid reaction, but he only shook his head with a scoff. "Ah, those bender politicians. They have no appreciation for what I've done for this city."

He was taking the news with unusual ease. She'd seen him respond worse to production delays and Asami knew she should be relieved but…

Her father shrugged. "It will all be taken care of soon enough." He clapped his hands jovially. "Well! In the meantime, I have so much to show you, Asami, I know you're going to love it. Do you remember that project I started a few years ago with—"

A theatrical cough rattled behind her, delivered by the unpleasant man. Her father changed course, undisturbed. ""Well, later. Once you get settled in." He took her face between with his hands again and drew her down to kiss her forehead. "Everything will be fine now Asami, you'll see." His voice was warm and certain.

"Your luggage should have arrived by now," the man announced in a harsh voice. He had pale eyes that cut across his gaunt face and he was narrowing them at her. "Perhaps you should check on it." Asami met his glower with her own haughty stare.

"Thank you Lieutenant." Amon stepped in. "Please continue with what you were working on with Hiroshi. I will show Ms. Sato to her room. Report to me when you are finished."

They left as her father and the Lieutenant resumed hovering over the mysterious portfolio. The rude dismissal left her irritated, as did Amon's one-sided decision about what she'd be doing next. "Am I going to have a babysitter everywhere I go?" she asked as he opened the main door for her.

"For the first day, yes. After that, we'll see." It was neutral, but delivered with a finality that told her arguing would be useless. He moved just fast enough that Asami had to hurry to keep up, and she decided she didn't like walking with Amon at all. But he accompanied her all the way to her door. She remembered what he'd said about having a room in the building as well, and queer anxiety skimmed over her she watched him depart down the dim hall.

Her trunks and bags had been deposited all along the walls. For the second time in as many months, Asami sat on a strange bed in a strange place and surveyed the packed remains of her old life. She stood before melancholy could take hold of her again and rummaged through the suitcases until she found the electrified glove, hidden away under books. Her relief surged with the crackle of electricity as it came to life at the first touch. She tucked it to one side of her bed.

She pulled a sketchbook out out the trunk and curled up in the armchair. It was going to take some thought to figure out what she could do around the restrictions and suspicions, how she could get her father alone to talk to him.

Asami scoffed to herself. _Free to move about. _Not if the rest of the base's occupants were like the Lieutenant.

As she pondered, her pen outlined a race car, an impossibly streamlined model on a winding mountain road.

* * *

She chafed at being confined, but not enough to risk what freedom she had by trying to sneak out. When she grew restless she took to pacing, and when that became boring she dug out a boar-pig bristle brush and tamed her hair into its proper shape. She changed her clothes, applied makeup—striking, jeweled colors for confidence—and made a perfunctory go at unpacking. She lingered over items, swapping things between drawers and hangars, smoothing out wrinkles on the pieces that had been hastily shoved into bags. She had to give the Equalists credit, they'd been thorough in gathering her things. She wondered if that had been Amon's orders.

Wen arrived at midday to take her to lunch. "I can bring it to you here instead—" he started, but Asami was already on her way out the door.

The canteen was so clearly a Future Industries standard-issue cafeteria that Asami felt a lurch of homesickness in spite of the bold-stroked banners proclaiming 'Equality' hanging from the ceiling. Hiroshi Sato had shared lunch with his employees often, part of his vocal and oft-repeated commitment to remembering his own humble roots. After they lost her mother he started bringing Asami along to his work, unwilling to leave her alone with nannies, and so she shared lunch with the workers too. She got to be a favorite among some of them, old-timers who would slip her extra dessert or bring her interesting bits of twisted metal from the manufacturing floor. She always showed the pieces to her father later, hesitantly naming what each one had been intended to be, anxious for the rare smile her performance would bring.

But the oil-spotted uniforms of workers sitting elbow to elbow were missing, replaced by the dull green of Equalists in tight groups of two or three. Asami's nostalgia became tinted with uncertainty as Wen led her on. She earned looks for standing out in her civilian maroon skirt and blazer. A conversation between two young woman lowered in pitch and volume as she passed by.

She kept her head up, but it reminded her of the out-of-place feeling the Air Temple sometimes gave her. Was she ever going to feel like she _belonged_ again?

She followed Wen's lead at the serving line and sat with her tray at a table occupied by an old man. He mumbled a greeting when Wen lowered himself onto the bench opposite. He glanced at Asami as she sat next to Wen, then did a double-take. At the same moment, she recognized him. "Mr. Shu!" The gray-haired man had worked for Future Industries for years, in the warehouse by the main factory. He was also, she realized, the man Wen had been talking to in the garage last night.

He gave a dry laugh. "Asami Sato. I didn't believe it until I saw you last night. Your dad finally brought you over to join the bad guys, eh?"

Asami was more nonplussed than offended, still trying to adjust to this familiar face peering at her from beneath the brim of the same workman's cap he'd worn a decade ago. "Ah, I…"

Shu flapped a hand at her. "Nah, don't worry. Word's gone out that we're not supposed to trust you." He saw Wen looking between them and pointed his chopsticks at him. "Don't start. I've known her," the chopsticks flicked in Asami's direction, "since she was this high."

Mr. Shu had been one of her erstwhile caretakers when she accompanied her father to work. In retrospect, she supposed it made sense that the Equalists would have recruited from within the company. "Showed her how to drive a forklift," he went on.

Asami was tempted to follow his lead and settle into old stories, but she _had_ to ask. "What are you doing are you _here_?"

He cracked a grin. "Heh. A year or so ago my son started going off to meetings every other night and bringing home pamphlets about 'equality'." He pulled a face to show what he thought of that. "I wanted to see this great 'Amon' for myself. So I went along with him to some big event about six months ago and saw a man in a carnival mask take down the head of the Agni Kais. For good. One man." He held up a weathered finger, then leaned on his crossed arms. "My oldest got into a scrape with some of the Agni's lowlife goons around twelve years ago. They walked away. He didn't." His fingers drummed along one sleeve, filling in the gaps in the story.

The past fell over their table like a shadow. The nature of her mother's death had never been secret, especially not from Future Industries' own employees, and Asami found herself revisiting a thousand little moments of kindness from her old friend. "I'm sorry." There was nothing else to say. Shu's gaze was focused on the far wall, retracing something she couldn't see. Asami knew that sort of sorrow didn't fade or lessen with time. Wen bent into his meal as she pushed her soup back and forth with her spoon, circling a question. _Is that how it was for Dad?_

Shu returned to the present with a good-natured snort. "And that's how your Dad got me to start working overtime for free." He spread his arms with hands palms up as if he were displaying the entire base as evidence. Asami laughed into the back of her hand, and with that she was freed from her gloomy reflection. He rubbed his square chin and looked left and right down the unoccupied table. "So, Miss Sato, how'd you like to see something even better than a forklift?"

"What?" Asami matched his conspiratorial lean in.

"A mecha tank!"

Wen spluttered and clunked his bowl onto the table. "Dad, you can't show her that!"

Shu shrugged. "It's only a prototype. And it's not like they're a secret anymore."

Asami knew he was referring the ambush under her father's workshop, but for once the reminder of that night didn't shake her. Nor did the knowledge that old Mr. Shu was an Equalist, not like it should have. She looked sidelong at him. The creases of his face took on an etched hardness here and there when he spoke, but eased quickly into familiar good humor again. She'd known so little about his life before, when she used to pester him until he let her drive a few pallets across the warehouse and back. Maybe the entirety of her childhood was going to be rewired, one person at a time, until it all lad back to the anti-bending movement.

In the absence of the usual gut reaction, a muted curiosity was stealing in. She hadn't _really_ gotten a good look at the machines in the underground factory, and she had wondered why they used treads when that would cut down on maneuverability so much...

She returned his devious smile. "I'd love to see one."

* * *

Asami looked hopefully toward the hangar when they left the building, but Shu brought her back to the garage. Like the canteen, her presence drew fleeting attention, but nobody questioned them as they ducked around figures leaning under open hoods and squeezed past the workbenches that lined the walls.

The prototype mecha tank was housed in the far back, away from the vehicles. The upper section sagged forward and its arms were slack, hanging down like a defeated prizefighter. Asami looked it over, pulling apart its details, reconnecting them, asking questions the way her father had taught her to. Mako had told her they were supposed to be platinum and looking at the size of it—it was easily two, maybe three times her height—she understood why they'd used continuous tracks, even though they jutted clumsily from the base. Plain rubber tires would have a hard time holding up so much weight over so little area.

Mr. Shu hopped up on one of the treads and stretched up to rap a knuckle on a large porthole at the top.

"We found out pretty quick that the windows are the weak point. Your dad held out against reinforcing them for the longest time, because he thought driver visibility was already too low. In the end he had to add supports, but I hear he's still trying to find someone who can work up a material that won't break so easily."

"The driver sits at the top? How do they get up there?" Asami stepped onto the other tread and stood on tiptoe. Shu pulled a latch on the front, causing panels beneath the dome to split and lift.

Asami clambered in and up without waiting for an invitation. She heard a chuckle behind her.

The bucket seat was surprisingly well cushioned. She noted the cross-body harness, and ran her hands over the gauges and valves before taking hold of the steering levers. She moved them around a bit, then leaned over to look out at Shu who was watching her with his hands on his hips. He laughed. "Just like a Future Industries forklift, eh?"

"Exactly like one." Asami sat back again to look around with an open smile. "A little roomier though." This—sitting at the controls of some bulky machine, Mr. Shu outside calling out comments—felt almost like coming home. An apprehension at the _purpose _of this particular machine, and each of its features, kept her from relaxing completely, but she could put that aside for a little while.

"I'd let you try driving it, but the battery's completely dead. It's mostly for spare parts now." He beckoned her. "It's all opened up in back if you want to see."

Asami took one last look and lifted herself out of the seat, balancing on the rim of the cockpit before climbing down the exterior just because she could. "Probably not as much fun as driving a racecar anyway." Lightness bubbled up through her chest, a feeling so fragile that she wanted to hug herself to hold it in.

A single wheel was braced against the rear (_probably for stability, _she thought), and a short ladder was planted next to it. The mecha tank's back panel was completely removed and the internals were an orderly nest of copper tubes and pumps, edged by tight bundles of colorful wires. A few dangled, disconnected, into gaps of absent parts. Asami was already up the ladder, taking a closer look. "What kind of fluid do they use?" she asked, peering in.

"Just water," Shu said. "Petroleum's too flammable. Firebenders, y'know."

"Huh." Asami stuck her head in further to avoid thinking about Mako facing this formidable thing. Her eyes followed the wires where they disappeared down the cylinders of each powerful-looking limb. Those arms looked dangerous, but it would have been fun to try them out.

"Uh-oh. Hey kid," she heard Shu. "Someone's waving at me, I ought to go see what they need. Don't get in any trouble, now." From the corner of her eye, she could see his dark green shirt disappearing around the front of the tank.

"No trouble, got it." Her voice bounced around with metallic resonance.

She continued exploring, and the careful calm of mechanical work soon filled the cramped space. She straddled the ladder's seat and propped her elbows on a reservoir tank to lean further in. She almost wished she _could _work on this, gather the missing parts and fix it up, figure out the systems she didn't recognize. It might be easy to operate, but the internals were definitely more complicated than any forklift would need to be. In a way, it was an extraordinary machine. Asami's sigh misted a row of copper tubes. It was so simple to use, and could do so many things. _What a waste that it's just a weapon_. She fingered a few wires, tracing them to one of the four headlamps set in the front. The filament looked burnt out, but the tiny bulb was tinted green.

A motion told her Shu had returned. "Hey, what's with the Equalists using green lights all the time?" Asami called out. She tapped a fingernail on the thin glass. "Aren't they more expensive?"

"Ms. Sato." A low, very non-Shu drawl made her jump, and her head collided with the hard pipes right on the spot still tender from its encounter with the truck window yesterday. Asami hissed a curse and clutched it with both hands. She counted to three, then smoothed her expression before withdrawing from the mecha tank's back.

Amon was standing at the base of the ladder, with the Lieutenant a little behind him. The stringy man was glaring at her again and Asami put all of her aggravation into her glare back.

"_This_," Amon said with leaden weight, "is one of the areas that qualifies as off-limits." From her vantage point, the upturned mouth on his mask looked especially humorless.

It occurred to her how it must look for them to find their "guest" poking around in a piece of Equalist weaponry. Asami slung her leg over the ladder and climbed down with growing trepidation. "I…got bored. I used to visit my dad's garages all the time to look at the Satomobiles."

The excuse sounded weak, even to her, and Amon's level gaze suggested he was equally unconvinced. "Lieutenant, would you please locate Wen?" The Lieutenant nodded curtly and left.

"He didn't know about it!" An impulsive protectiveness toward him and Shu drove her to divert the blame as much as possible. "I told you I got bored! What am I supposed to do, stay in my room all day and stare at the mountains?" Her earlier pique was rising with the complaints, and she capped the tirade with a resentful pout that was mostly real. "If I'm really supposed to be a prisoner here, just say so." She crossed her arms and tapped one foot.

She could see his eyes close as he released a controlled breath—the sort of sigh her butler would give whenever Bolin asked him to do anything—and then they flicked open with a look that knifed through her half-feigned petulance. His words were thick with warning. "We will talk about it tomorrow. Your father should be out of the medical ward, and I will join you both in the morning."

Asami confined her response to a simple nod. She could practically hear the ice cracking beneath her.

"Good." He took her aback by stepping forward to circle behind her with uncanny fluidity. She flinched as his fingertips grazed the back of her head. "You've injured yourself twice in less than a day," he observed. "You may need to visit our medical center yourself."

His touch was clinical, remote, but tingles ran down the back of her neck anyway. Asami's imagination came to life again, hinting,and she flinched away before it could become a real thought. She smoothed her hair. "Um, it's not that bad. Maybe later."

"Very well." The hand fell to her shoulder with equally professional remove, and he steered her toward a door in the back corner.

"Until then," he opened it with one hand and pushed her outside where the Lieutenant was approaching with Wen in tow. "You may stay in your room and look at the mountains."


	7. Chapter 7

_Look at the mountains, stay in your room_, Asami mimicked. She wanted to kick something, and settled for scuffing her stockinged foot on the carpet.

Wen had informed her that she was expected to remain there for the rest of the day. He didn't have to say why.

He'd been carrying a small book behind his back as he escorted her, tapping his fingers against it with staccato speed. "You know, I'm glad you got to talk to my Dad," he said. His breath left translucent clouds in the air. "He used to tell me all about you...and he was, uh, disappointed when you went with the Avatar. So he's pretty happy now. And the Lieutenant's mad but I don't mind about the mecha tank, really."

Asami was too busy fuming to reply. Wen stopped to open the door to the guest annex for her. "I know your father—Mr. Sato—he didn't really get you involved in Equalist stuff up 'til now. So it's all probably really strange." He ran a hand through his short hair and grimaced, following her inside. "Like chi-blockers, the mecha tanks, that kind of thing. I know I would've had trouble if I'd just been thrown right in the drink."

When they reached the door to her room, Wen faced her and held up his book with ceremonial significance. "_This_ is how I got started."

The book's binding was held together with heavy staples, and the flimsy cover was so scuffed that the typed characters, _Treatise on the Four Nations and Two Worlds, _were just barely visible. "It was written just a few years after the Hundred Year War. The author, he was inspired by the farm raids that went on in the Earth Kingdom, you know, how after the Fire Nation's military was scaled down these gangs of former soldiers went around—"

He went on. Asami half-listened while feeling for the door handle behind her. "—and setting up extortion rackets in rural towns, supposedly the Agni Kais originated—"

"Uh-huh...sure..." Wen seemed so sincere about it but she really didn't need another history lesson. She began sidling into her room, hoping he'd get the hint.

"—discovery of bending actually put the world _out_ of balance, and the idea of the Avatar being the true connection to the spirit world is just a—a soothing myth for—"

Asami gave up and broke into the discourse with an appeasing smile. "That's great, Wen. But I need to…finish unpacking now." She began inching the door shut.

Wen flipped the book on its side and pushed it into the gap. "I just think if you read it you might understand better. He shows how we _need_ Equalism, Asami." His eyes were wide and bright, their color like a mineral lake. "Just think about it: if there were no bending the world would always be at peace."

Asami had no choice but to accept the gift, so she did her best to be gracious about it. "Thank you, that's very thoughtful." She eyed it. "Though I don't know if I'll have time to _really _study it."

"Well, you might," Wen said, his enthusiasm fading. He scratched his ear and looked at the ceiling. "I mean—the Lieutenant said—" He took hold of the door's handle. "The Lieutenant said you had to stay in your room for the rest of the day. AnywayI'llseeyoulater!" He shut the door on Asami's "_What?"_

Since then, she'd been stalking around the room.

She'd never been treated like this, not even when she was a child, and back then she used to get into all _sorts_ of places she wasn't allowed. But the nearest machinist (or test driver, or electrician) would always drop what they were doing and usher her back to her father or the floor manager, usually with good humor. At worst they might seem a little impatient or lecture her about safety, but they'd certainly never shoved her out a door or _grounded _her.

Between Amon's diffident treatment and his Lieutenant's suspicion it felt like the police station all over again. Maybe they were retaliating because she hadn't fallen over herself to worship Amon; he was probably insulted that she didn't sign up for glow-in-the-dark goggles on the spot after his evangelism about 'non-bender medicine'. And here she'd thought _Tarrlok _was petty.

Asami threw herself into the armchair and plucked at a loose thread on the hem of her skirt. _Hiroshi would never forgive me if something happened to you._ Amon had as good as admitted last night that he couldn't threaten her. This had to be his way of keeping her in line; pushing her from place to place, making sure she always knew who was in way he'd gripped her shoulder had allowed his hand to brush against the bare skin on her neck. Asami kneaded the spot, trying to get rid of the burr that seemed to be lodged there.

She looked at the window and, on a sudden impulse, went to check it. It was still easy to open. She ran her fingers along the sill. The door had stayed unlocked too—she could walk out at any time.

Asami used her sleeve to clear the condensation from one pane and leaned against the wall to look out the window at an angle. She could just see the corner of the garage. It wouldn't take her more than half a minute to run there, maybe a minute if she had to be sneaky. She could easily take a vehicle and just use the electrified glove on anyone who tried to stop her. Even in a big boxy truck, she was pretty sure she could outmaneuver any pursuers on the pass.

There was something there, a meaning beyond the insufferable insult of _stay in your room. _Amon was willing to trust her. He probably_ wanted_ to trust her, to keep Dad happy if nothing else.

Asami lifted Wen's book from where she'd dropped it on her bedside table. The only plan she'd come up with—the only one that seemed possible—was to get her father alone as often as possible and chip away at whatever the Equalists had done to him. If she could smooth things over with Amon too, convince him that she would behave according to his standards—maybe even hint at a willingness to _think_ about the anti-bending cause—she might earn enough freedom to accompany her father as he went about his day.

She sighed and opened the book to a random page.

* * *

Wen didn't come for her until the next day, at mid-morning. Asami had made little headway in the dense, abstract writing during the evening and gave vague answers to his eager questions about the book. It was hard to believe it could have inspired any of the Equalists at all, let alone their whole operation.

Wen showed her to a small suite on the other side of the annex, which turned out to be her father's. The front room was even more opulent then her own. Decorative folding screens, painted with white tiger monkeys, were set alongside a rosewood desk stacked with scrolled blueprints and papers. A thin, leafy tree was growing in a jade pot in the corner, next to a bookcase holding books and ceramic ornaments.

Her father was enjoying breakfast and reading the newspaper next to a window with embroidered curtains that were tied back to let in the sun.

He shook it closed and folded it as she approached. Asami glimpsed a sepia photo of Korra on the front page and self-conscious envy flashed through her. Korra was out in the world, involved, active. Asami was…moving from room to room. _With a plan, _she reminded herself as Hiroshi rose to kiss her on the cheek. Amon hadn't arrived yet, so she should make good use of this time.

His coat looked looser than usual and she wondered if Amon was pushing him back to work too soon. "Are you sure you should be out of the clinic already?" she asked.

"Asami, you worry too much." Hiroshi patted her arm. "_You _look paler than I do. Come, sit. Didn't Amon tell you how effective non-bender medicine is?"

"But you've never gotten so sick before." _Now or never. _Asami smoothed a wrinkle in the tablecloth with her finger and eased into one of her softer points of persuasion. "I think you might be working a little too much for the Equalists."

Her father just harrumphed and leaned back. "There's a lot to be done Asami." He hooked his thumbs into the pockets of his waistcoat with a smile. "Anyway, I hear you've been spending time with Shu's boy. Wen."

Asami made a face. "Spending_ time_ isn't exactly how I'd put it. He's my handler."

He chuckled. "I told Amon you wouldn't like that. It's just for now sweetie, while you're still new."

"Okay, but like I was saying about the work, Dad—"

"I heard about the prototype too." Hiroshi removed his spectacles and began cleaning the lenses with a handkerchief between his thumb and forefinger. "So, what did you think?"

She could hear the pleased satisfaction in his voice. He was acting as if everything was normal, as if _this _was normal, as if he thought their old lives and habits were just a couple of roles that could be re-assumed at any time. He couldn't possibly think that sharing morning tea and chats in the middle of a terrorist compound was okay, could he?

Asami twisted a porcelain cup back and forth. _Pretend. Get time with him. Don't make trouble. _"It was...it was really interesting. I can't believe they only use steam."

Hiroshi settled the spectacles back over the bridge of his nose. "Yes, it has its good points but the early models aren't perfect. I've tried to correct some of the flaws in the newest model." He winked at her and lifted the teapot. "You didn't hear it from me, but we actually have a group of them here in the hangar."

Asami supposed that answered the question of _what_ they were using that enormous building for. She tried to look as if that were exciting news. "Wow, that would be great to see. With you, I mean."

"I'm going to talk to Amon about it, there's really no reason to keep you out of there. It'll all be public soon enough." He refilled his cup and passed the pot to Asami. "You'll really like some of the innovations in these ones. We've used technology that's very new, just came out of the Fire Nation. There's a magnet." He spread his arms as if holding a gigantic disc. "It's about half again as wide as this, thirty centimeters thick and detachable, bolts right on the end of the arm. Turn it on and _whap_." He slapped his hands together gleefully. "Metalbenders stick to it like bumble flies on a strip."

Asami stared at him, the teapot forgotten in her hands.

"Asami, what is it? You're not really getting sick, are you?"

_He sees nothing wrong with it._ She was left somewhere between disbelief and disgust at the realization. "Dad, that's _awful_," she said.

Hiroshi's eyebrows arced down behind the round lenses and his jovial expression began to decay. Asami recognized the warning signs, but she couldn't stop herself, _wouldn't_ stop. "How can you make something like that? How can you be doing this for them?" She thumped the pot down, not trying to control her rising voice. "Don't you see that the Equalists are just using you? I know you think they're important but they've ruined your _life_, you're a _criminal _now, Dad, and Future Industries is dying—"

Hiroshi slapped the table, cutting her off with the sharp note of jumping dishware. "That's _enough,_" he barked at her. Asami stopped, aghast. He glanced down and saw his tea had sloshed over. "Bah!" He lifted the teacup with thick fingers around the rim, shaking his head. "I've been wondering if I should have started teaching you sooner."

He jerked the napkin over to blot the tablecloth and his voice took on a lacerating edge. "Or at least kept you from making friends with _benders_."

Asami kept her hands in her lap, clutching at her skirt. She'd dressed nicely today, thinking it might help somehow. Her father looked at her over his glasses. "You were so young when it happened, Asami. You just don't understand."

She shoved her chair back and stood. "I'm done eating. I have to go back to my room."

Her father called her name with exasperation as she strode to the door. "Asami—"

Wen was nowhere to be found. The hallways on this side of the building were as poorly illuminated as the rest and Asami blinked away a few stricken tears to glare at some distant point on the dim floor. Her first attempt to just talk to her father about the Equalists, and it had gone so badly. More than badly. She wrapped her arms around herself as she walked. _How can he be like that, be so happy about hurting people? _It was like nothing had changed from the underground factory; he would still attack all of her friends in a heartbeat.

But things had been good up to that point and a part of her wondered if she should have just stayed, calmed him down and tried again. But her feet kept on taking her away from the suite. She rounded a corner, and nearly collided with Amon.

She tried to push past him but he sidestepped and blocked her path. "Ms. Sato. You should be with your father."

He was just tall enough that she couldn't quite see past his shoulders. "I'm finished," she snapped. "Don't worry, I'm just going to my room." She feinted left before darting to the right to go around him. It was an immature maneuver, but she couldn't stand to go back there with_ Amon_, listen to her father fawn over him and be able to say nothing because it would be two against one...

He caught her arm. "No." There was a touch of tightness in his voice. "We need to talk to Hiroshi about keeping you occupied. And out of trouble."

"Don't touch me." Asami wrenched away from Amon's abrupt closeness as much as his hold. His fingers went rigid for the briefest moment before opening, and she backed away.

He was giving her his full attention now and the acute, overwhelming focus felt particularly foreboding in the gloomy half-light. Asami crossed her arms and drew herself up defiantly. Her anger focused, finding its target. Everything in Wen's little book—she'd been right that it didn't matter. It was Amon that the Equalists really followed, that her father was following. Dad had never shouted at her like that before. He'd never had heart trouble, or attacked people, or built weapons and laughed about it. It all came back to Amon, his influence.

He could have been snaking his way into her father's head for years. She'd thought Amon was taking care of him out of friendship, when he'd probably just been looking after his investment.

"The terms of your stay were settled yesterday," he said. His eyes had narrowed behind the mask.

Her epiphany from last night came to her mind: _you need Amon to trust you_. Asami shoved the idea away, because it was trivial compared to the sudden, seething imperative of_ I hate you. _"I don't care," she snapped. "I don't care about any terms, or your anti-bending movement or anything on this whole base." She reached for a good insult, something to make a real impact on him. "This whole thing is going to _fail_, you're just a cult leader. You've turned my dad into some kind of fanatic and taken everything from us—he was never like this before—"

"Like what?" Amon interrupted.

It was all coming together for Asami. "He wants to hurt people! He hates benders now and it's your fault. Your Equalists are awful, you've all made my father cruel and hateful—"

"No." The single, definite syllable was enough to make her stop. "You may choose to believe otherwise, but Hiroshi was deeply angry at benders long before he joined the Equalist movement. He never recovered from his wife's murder and he'd been dwelling on thoughts of revenge for years. He offered his services to me." Amon adjusted the leather guards over his forearms as he spoke, not seeming the least bit offended by her tirade.

"I think I would've known—" _I think I would've noticed if there were a factory underneath my house. _She'd been brimming over with resentment when she said that, furious that the police were so ready to persecute her family. And then...the tunnel and the platform and _maybe you don't know everything about your father_. There'd been a moment when she'd hated Korra for saying that, for being an outsider who'd needed only a day to uncover a truth that had been hidden to Asami for years.

The hallway felt stuffy and narrow. He'd thwarted her outrage neatly, and she was left churning with resentment. "You still accepted his help. You encouraged him."

"I am leading a revolution, Ms. Sato, not a peace march." Amon finished fixing his armor. "Our brothers and sisters come to us through many paths and many motivations."

He started forward and Asami jerked back against the wall but he passed her without a glance and stopped to look down the hall that led to her father's suite. "For a time, working for the Equalists seemed to bring Hiroshi peace. Recently…" The mask was a white sliver in profile. "I had hoped you might be a stabilizing presence, but I see that it's the opposite."

Dismay crept over her. "What do you mean?"

"You've been arguing with Hiroshi. It's only going to agitate him further and make a relapse likely."

_The heart condition. _She was trying to save her father and Amon was telling her she was close to killing him.

"I didn't mean to start a fight," Asami said. She looked down, speaking half to herself. "He asked me about the prototype I was looking at yesterday and then he told me about the newest mecha tanks and the magnets, how he wants to use them against metalbenders." She lifted her hands helplessly toward Amon. "I didn't want to upset him but what was I supposed to do, applaud? We used to talk about things like engines and aerodynamics, how to make production more efficient and now…I'm not going to pretend that this stuff is the same just because he thinks it is. I'm not an Equalist."

Amon was regarding her with intense focus again. "No, you aren't." He turned away and folded his arms behind his back. "Does your father usually tell you about his projects?" He stared down the hallway again, looking like a teacher waiting for a student's answer.

_You mean how much do I know about your Equalist projects? _Asami realized she might have just talked her way into long-term confinement. But if she started running _now_, maybe she could still escape. "Y-yes…but not a lot." She drew out the answer, taking a slow step backward. She set her foot down carefully to avoid making a sound.

He seemed to hear anyway, and glanced at her over his shoulder. "You were exploring the mecha tank yesterday. And Hiroshi has told me he wants you to help him with his work."

"Yeah, but I'm not going to—"

"But you could. He's taught you enough."

This didn't sound like he suspected her of spying, exactly. "Yeah, for the _company,_" Asami said. "I don't care if he wants me to make weapons—and I thought you didn't want me to do anything like that, anyway." She was off-balance again, with no idea where this was going. "I'm supposed to stay in my room, you said."

"I might reconsider. I will have to talk to your father." Amon lapsed into silence again, studying her.

Asami shifted under his gaze, trying to understand his reversal. She'd just called him a liar, and he was being nice? _No way. _"For now…is there any other activity that you might find entertaining?" he asked suddenly, and it struck her that Amon must be back to trying to please Dad, by pretending he would 'let' Asami work for them. _Fine, whatever, I can work with that._

'Activity'though…she brushed her hair out of her face. What was she going to do here, go sledding? He probably wouldn't give the okay for her to play with the mecha tank some more.

She thought of the newspaper in her father's suite. "I miss the news. I'd like to get the paper," Asami said. She braced herself for rejection. A small part of her hoped for a reason to start another fight, something to force Amon to reveal that he was faking, that he was still the problem here, not Dad. "Morning _and_ evening edition," she added.

Amon nodded once. "I'll see to it."

Wen appeared at the other end of the hall. "Oh, hey Asam—" He noticed Amon. "Uh, am I late? I'm sorry sir—"

Amon held up a hand. "It's fine," he said. He looked to Asami. "Unless you'd like to join me with your father?" She shook her head and he turned back to Wen. "Then please see Ms. Sato back to her room."

Wen had brought pamphlets for her this time. "They're a lot shorter, in case the _Treatise_ is too much."

She'd had less than an hour of freedom. Stuck in her room once more, Asami shuffled through the pamphlets for lack of anything better to do. She ignored anything with a title over six words and found one labeled DEFENSE AGAINST BENDING STYLES. She dropped the rest next to Wen's book and dragged the cushion back to her low table to drink tea while skimming it. The booklet summarized the history of chi blocking, with short paragraphs on the tactics for each bending style and the best spots to target depending on which element you were facing.

Amon's words kept circling her. _He'd been dwelling on thoughts of revenge for years. I had hoped you'd be a stabilizing presence but I see that's the opposite. _Maybe she should have asked if she could take chi blocking lessons instead. _At least Dad_ _would be happy about that._

* * *

The morning inched into afternoon. She'd gone back to thinking through the points to make with her father—now that she knew direct challenges were definitely out—when a knock came. Asami stuffed her notes beneath the seat of the armchair and answered the door.

Maya shouldered in. "Hiya." Her uniform was folded down and tied around her waist, and her dark hair was loose. She had a brown undershirt on, and her hood was nowhere in sight; she could have passed for an off-duty dockworker or factory employee.

She took a long look around the room and whistled. "Nice. I guess being Sato's daughter has its perks." As she turned, Asami saw a tabletop radio tucked under her arm. She looked Asami up and down. "You're looking better too. You were a little peaked last time I saw you."

Asami ignored that. She nodded at the radio. "Is that for me?"

"Yeah." Maya crossed to the bedside table and slid the radio onto it. She slung her forearm over the rounded top and grinned like a dragon, lifting her eyebrows. "Compliments of Amon."

"I don't know what you're talking about." All she'd asked for was a newspaper, why was he giving her this?

"Oh sure, sure." Maya examined the radio, fiddling with the dials. She dusted one corner daintily. "He gives us _all _radios. And moon cakes, and bouquets of flowers every day." She looked up with another sly smile. "Are you blushing? That's adorable."

Asami _could _feel her skin warming. This was ridiculous, they weren't _twelve._ "That's not what this—I am not—"

"Oh relax, I'm just teasing." Maya started searching behind the nightstand. "Where's the outlet over here, I wanna see if it works. The guy said it was special model, extra sensitive to pick up the signal way out here."

Asami sat on the bed, drawing her legs up as Maya looked underneath it, and tried to get the conversation off Amon. "How far _are _we from the city?"

Maya's voice came from below her. "I dunno, maybe fifteen miles?" She emerged and hunted along the wall until she reached the armchair. "Got it!" She returned to the radio and unwound a thin cord from the back. "Anyway, you don't need to be embarrassed. Amon wouldn't be our great leader if he didn't have _something _going for him, right? You're a lucky girl."

"He gave me the radio," Asami said, dropping each word carefully into place, "because I'm 'Sato's daughter'. Like you said. That's it."

"Oh well, _that's _a lot better." Maya rolled her eyes and switched the radio on before Asami could ask what she meant. She spun the tuner until hisses and squeals faded into the familiar newscaster's patter.

_…curfew for non-benders passed this morning. Hold on folks, it looks like the press conference is getting underway—_

Councilman Tarrlok's voice poured out of the speaker. _Good afternoon, ladies and gentleman. In order the combat the Equalist threat, the Council has passed a special resolution requiring that all non-benders stay in their homes after dark._

Asami scooted forward to listen. Maya put a hand on her hip and leaned on the radio again.

_…for their own safety as well, due to potential backlash against them. In addition, the Anti-Equalist Task Force will begin regular patrols tonight. Anyone found breaking the curfew will be treated as a suspected Equalist. _A din rose when he finished. _We will not be taking questions. Thank you. _

The newscaster returned. _That was Councilman Tarrlok, announcing the new non-bender curfew which goes into effect tonight. Now for the music hour. _Asami turned the volume down as a sprightly version of "Long Way to Ba Sing Se" began playing.

"Well," Maya said. "Guess the radio works." She flopped into the armchair and fished a hair tie out of her pocket. "Shit."

Asami kept her perch on the bed. _That curfew would mean me. It would mean Dad. _He always stayed late at the office, and she used to go out after sunset all the time. It was unfair. It was _outrageous_. Her indignation grew the more she thought about it. How could the Council pass such a biased law, how could Tenzin let it happen?

Maya was pulling her hair back, talking around the tie in her mouth. "You know, I used to get around a lot, and I've seen plenty of bad situations—the world can be awful, take it from me—but Republic City is unique. I mean, Ba Sing Se is creepy and there's tons of crappy poor farming towns, but here…" She retrieved the tie and frowned as she looped it into her hair. "Here, if you don't have money, no one knows your name. The Triads can do anything they want to anyone. And the worst part is, no one in charge _cares._ They just let it happen."

It sounded a lot like the usual Equalist nonsense to Asami and she wanted to disagree but she didn't know where to start. There were people like Tenzin, like Chief Beifong—Lin Beifong wasn't nice, but Asami knew she _cared_. "There's the police. They're always arresting Triad members."

"Tch. The cops arrest the ones who are too dumb to get off the street when the cables start flying. Every now and then they make a big catch, but then it's fifty-fifty the guy gets off after the trial, or just keep running things from behind bars." Maya tugged her ponytail tight and coiled it into a bun. "Everyone just hunkers down and hopes the next council member will fix things." Her face pinched with scorn. "Or the Avatar. But that's not gonna happen unless the Triple Threats start a probending team. The Equalists are the only group that're really standing up for people without any power. And look at how the Council reacted to Amon, they dropped everything in order to stop him. They call us 'extremists' and then turn around and make like all non-benders are the bad guys. I'll bet you anything Tarrlok is taking bribes from the Triads on the side."

Asami traced a pattern on the coverlet. She agreed about Tarrlok, but..._Korra only got here a few months ago. She's still learning. _But she wasn't about to share that fact if the Equalists didn't know it already. Maya untied the sleeves of her uniform and shrugged it over her shoulders. "Amon, now…" She looked contemplative. "He _understands, _even if he's not from around here. He knows what it's like. And that thing about the spirits—once you see him take someone's bending you can really believe in him. He'll do whatever it takes to make the city into something better. It's like destiny."

The corner of her mouth lifted as she did up the buttons. "'Course, that voice and body don't hurt either, am I right?"

Asami put every ounce of her upbringing into a haughty, indifferent shrug. Maya just smirked. "No? Then it's the air of mystery, right?" She stood and gave Asami an exaggerated once-over, tapping her chin. "Yeah, yeah. I can see what they're saying. The heiress and the Equalist. Sounds like a romance novel."

"That's not funny. And it's not true." _What _who's_ saying?_

"Yes it is." Maya caught the pamphlet Asami flung at her and winged it back. "Ha! You're too easy."

She swung over to clap Asami's shoulder and jogged to the door. "After that news, odds are I'm going to be on _Anti_-Anti-Equalist Task Force patrol tonight. Wish me luck." She gave her a thumbs up and slipped out the door.

The room's emptiness seemed to expand in Maya's wake. Asami turned up the volume on the radio and locked the door. She leaned against it morosely. She'd been here two days now and the only things she'd managed to do was have another fight with her father and, apparently, start a lurid rumor about her and Amon.

She sighed and moved to the window to look out at the base. The day had reduced to an orange glow lining the mountains, dissolving upward into dusk.

For a moment it had all seemed so clear, so easy to believe that Amon was the cause of all her father's problems. But Amon said otherwise, and the way her father had reacted made Asami think he was telling the truth. _And now the curfew_…why did the city have to make things worse? Amidst all the teasing Maya had been getting ready to go out and _fight _the task force over it. There was no doubt the anti-bending conflict was escalating. She was surrounded by rising water here, and standing still.

Asami gathered up the book and the pamphlets and dumped them into a drawer. _Tomorrow, _she decided. No matter what was waiting for her back in Republic City, if she didn't make some kind of progress with her father by tomorrow she would have to abandon the plan and leave this place for good.


	8. Chapter 8

Music threaded into her half-woken dream: _a gold-tinted gala, a chanson playing in the air_ as Amon introduces her to _Hiroshi Sato and Avatar Korra,_ Asami is trying to say _but I know them already_. Councilman Tarrlok joins them and the chanson breaks off as he tells her, _we interrupt your regularly scheduled broadcast to bring you this special report: late last night, Equalists attacked City Hall..._

A muzzy sense that this was important reached her before full consciousness did. Asami lifted her head from the pillow as the dream fragmented and dissolved.

_...subduing Councilman Tarrlok and capturing Avatar Korra. Details are still coming in, but so far it is unknown where she is being held or what their intentions might be._

A moment passed as the news sank in. _They. The Equalists. They captured Korra. _And then Asami was stumbling out of bed, dragging the blankets with her. Black spotted her vision and she leaned against the bedside table while scrubbing the sleep from her eyes.

The report switched to a statement from Chief Saikhan. Asami listened, paralyzed and wondering if there was something she could have done. Had that been what Maya was really leaving for last night? Had Asami given something away that let them capture Korra?

She sat on the carpet and hugged her knees to her chest, feeling that she couldn't take much more of this, the blur of _bender oppression_ and _Triads_ turning into _mecha tanks_ and now _kidnappings_, the tilting of her perspective one way and then the other every day. Every _hour_. It felt like years had passed since she'd stood at her father's bedside and thought she understood for once how he could be so angry. And it felt like centuries has passed since he'd offered her the glove and asked her to join and she'd known without a doubt that the Equalists were wrong, wrong, wrong.

_They've kidnapped Korra, they broke into City Hall and took the Avatar_. There was no angle at which that could be turned to make it right. Asami stared at her feet. She couldn't blame herself for it. Maybe it was retaliation for the non-bender curfew, maybe it was all part of Amon's plan.

Asami unfolded and rose with determination. What really mattered was what she was going to do now. She shoveled the blankets back onto the bed and set into her morning routine, thinking.

A look outside showed stars still visible in the sky; it was much earlier than she usually woke, which gave her some time. But Wen would be here soon enough, and there was no telling who else was up and about on the base at this hour.

She turned ideas over in her head. _Take a hostage, _as she showered. The only person here who'd be important enough was Hiroshi Sato and Asami assured herself that she could and _would_ use the electrified glove on him again. But if he refused to go along with whatever threat she made—which, knowing him, he probably would—she wouldn't be able to move his unconscious bulk by herself.

_Sabotage then, _as she opened the lid of her makeup box. She surveyed the paints and creams and powder, and decided to save time by skipping them. She could break into the hangar, take a mecha tank and use it smash the others. But at some point she'd be caught, and then what? The Equalists would still have their other weapons, and the Avatar.

_Spy_. Asami swept her hair over one shoulder and buttoned her dark jacket over it. She almost had their trust, or something close to it here, but no one was going to accidentally let slip Korra's whereabouts while she was around.

She was already picking through her trunks for a bag when she finally accepted the only realistic course of action, the same one as last night. _Leave. _

A green dyed leather purse from a trip to Ba Sing Se seemed roomy enough. She stuffed it with another set of clothes and a few personal items, and tucked the handful of yuans she had left into a side pocket. The electrified glove went on top.

She laced her boots and slung the bag over one shoulder, and then faced the door. _Don't think about it. Concentrate on getting away. _The radio was still playing behind her, the programming returned to tinkly morning music. She backed up and switched it off. The room already felt abandoned, in spite of her luggage everywhere. _Concentrate on getting away. _On leaving her father without without so much as a word, without reaching out to him one last time.

Asami scrunched her face. She'd come so far to help him, and if Amon was right it was more than his physical health at stake now. She _had _to try again. One little fight shouldn't make her give up. She could still make him understand how important it was that he leave the Equalists.

She fixed that thought against an onrush of instinct pushing her to _get going and get out now._

* * *

The airfield was wreathed in mist, devoid of any signs of life. Asami anchored the bag against her hip and darted out the front door, heading in a straight line to the rear of the garage.

There'd been no answer at her father's suite, but he'd always been the type to start the day early. It had been a rare source of strife between them in the last few years, when Asami would emerge from her room near midday with dressing gown and matted hair and wander straight into his brisk, spruced disapproval.

Outside his suite, she'd followed a chain of hopeful logic: if he was out, then he was working. If the airfield was like a standard Future Industries compound, then his office would be above the main production floor. The production floor would have to be in the largest building. And that would be the hangar.

And so the hangar became her destination. Asami slid along the wall to the end of the garage and scanned the structure. The front panel was closed, but a regular door in the back looked to be propped open. She gave herself no time to think and launched herself toward it. Every footfall against the frost-rimmed gravel made a grinding sound that seemed to echo through the still air. But there were no shouts, no chases and Asami skidded to a stop with a burst of exhilaration. She squeezed behind the door and caught her breath while peering through the crack.

All she could see was a bare wall, but she heard no voices or sounds of movement inside. Asami counted on her luck holding out and wheeled around the door and into the hallway. She headed left, toward the stairwell, and went up the stairs taking the steps two at a time.

The second floor hall had walls that were unpainted and a floor of scrubbed concrete. Gaps in the ceiling tiles exposed pipes and insulation. A poster of Amon posing before rays of red and yellow was tacked up near the stairwell.

Asami jogged down the hall, counting_. One…two…third door_ _on the left._ A handwritten sign was taped in place of the usual etched nameplate reading _Hiroshi Sato, _but her guess had been right. She rapped a knuckle against the door before she could reconsider. "Dad?"

Nothing. Asami stood back, tapping her lower lip. Could she risk looking all over the base to find her father? If she was caught, it would be straight back to the room with her. _Ugh._ She spared a thought for Wen—how much trouble would he be in once she vanished? _He's an Equalist, you don't care. _

But Asami couldn't quite include him in her idea of the faceless group that attacked City Hall last night. Aside from the fact that Korra could flatten him, Wen seemed more likely to start reciting passages from his book than to fight. And thinking of Wen brought to mind Mr. Shu. And there was Maya, though she probably _would _have been part of the kidnapping. But Maya really believed that they were doing the right thing…

Anyway, she did not have time or space to be concerned about them. Asami put them out of her mind and tried the door handle. It was unlocked.

She knew what the office would look like before she'd opened the door: large, with little furniture—Hiroshi liked room to pace while thinking—a plain table and a few chairs, telephone, filing cabinets, drafting board. Diagrams and blueprints taking up three of the walls. The fourth wall was made of windows that angled out to overlook the production floor. Asami used dare herself by leaning on the panes of glass, seeing how long she could stand to be suspended above the humming machinery below. Usually she could hold out until her father noticed and told her to get away from there.

The lights were on, meaning he'd been in here already. There were a few hours yet before anyone would think to check her room, and her father was bound to return here at some point. She could try waiting for him.

She thought of the things she could say to make him come with her. He might not care about Korra being kidnapped, but Amon had made it clear that he was driven by what had happened to his wife.

As always, Asami's mind skated past her own remnant impressions of that night; what little she'd heard from under her bed. She knew it'd been awful, though. And if her father cared about that then he would see the similarities to the Equalists kidnapping people. She would make him see. Mom had died because of criminals breaking into their house, how was breaking into City Hall any better?

Asami went into the office. The steel-shaded lights over the production floor were off, leaving the view from the glass wall dark except for the glow of lamps along the pillars below. She swung by the windows for a look at the new mecha tanks her father had mentioned.

Two tanks were were tucked in the shadows in a far corner. The rest of the space was taken up by—"Airplanes."

They covered the floor like grey-winged insects, a multitude. _Airplanes. _Asami sank down, bracing herself with hands on the glass. "Of course." A spot turned opaque under her breath. _Airfield, Asami, you knew that_. But she hadn't thought things had gone this far, that he was really building airplanes here. This changed things, they had airplanes, someone had to be told about it.

Asami stayed where she was, staring down. The planes all faced the hangar door, perched on three wheels with propeller noses tilting up. They were beautiful, steel kites structured around sleek bodies. But each boxy wing was painted with "Equality" where the Future Industries logo should be. He'd done it, he'd made personal aircraft and he'd done it for the _Equalists._

Something moved behind her reflection in the glass, and a voice rasped, "What are you doing in here?"

Asami sprang up and whirled around to find the Lieutenant standing in the doorway with arms akimbo. A tight grey hood and goggles framed his scowl and for the first time, Asami recognized him as the other Equalist she'd taken down in the underground factory. No wonder he hated her so much.

"I'm—" Her eyes darted around the room as she tried to find a worthwhile excuse, but all that came to her was _airplanes, now he knows I know. _"I—"

"Where's Wen?" He began striding toward her. "Amon isn't going to like this."

_He's important. _It floated up like the fragment of a song. From what she'd heard the Lieutenant acted as Amon's second-in-command, he led teams in the field and conveyed orders from the top. He mattered._ Get him_, _make Amon trade Korra for him._

Asami backed away along the window, eying him as he advanced. She'd beaten him once before, she could do it again. He was skinny, she could drag him downstairs by herself, and there had to be at least one truck or van somewhere in here. She let him get closer and slipped a hand beneath the flap of her bag.

His eyes flicked down at the motion. "What are you—"

Asami jammed her hand into the glove and wrested it free as he leapt toward her. She dodged toward the middle of the room as he pulled the sparking sticks from his back, but her hip clipped the corner of the desk and she stumbled sideways. She was forced to duck beneath his first stab and white-blue seared the edge of her sight.

She threw herself forward and managed to wrap copper fingers around his knee before her back lit in rippling agony and her muscles seized. The pain spread, going on and on until darkness finally switched it off.

* * *

She registered with indifferent offense that she was being carried slung over a bony shoulder like some kind of carpet. She tried to right herself, but an awful nausea spun through her as the ride became bumpy and she let the world slip away again.

Waking up the second time was even worse. A deep ache in her shoulders brought her around and when she tried to move her arms, she found they were bound together behind her back.

Asami's first annoyed thought was that it seemed like overkill, especially once she noticed her ankles were similarly tied. She was lying on her side. A variety of pains twinkled throughout—along her forearms where the cords cut into them, down through her neck and shoulders from being stretched too far, and over her scalp from lying on the hard, unswept floor. Hardest to ignore was the sullen burn down her back.

Sitting up was an ordeal and once Asami saw the gray walls and densely lined bars, her detachment fell apart. She was in a _jail, _she was _tied up_. She'd tried to fight the Lieutenant and _lost_.

The memory of that sensation rolled up and over her, and she heaved a few shuddering breaths through her teeth. After a moment, she twisted onto her knees and inched up to the bars to look around. Her cell turned out to be one of eight. They faced each other in rows of four that led down to double doors, and a bare electric bulb was the only object to break up the monotony of concrete and dark iron. The high afternoon sun drowned out its weak light. No wonder everything hurt, she must have been laying there for hours. "Hello?"

It barely even echoed. Not that she'd thought they would lock her up with someone else, like maybe with Korra. Not that she'd expected her father to be here, or to care that she was here.

Asami tried the bars first, jamming both feet against them as best she could. All that accomplished was making a racket and so next she struggled around the cell's interior in a cursory search. The space was barely larger than a closet and had nothing in it aside from her. It was obviously was meant for short term confinement. _Or maybe the Lieutenant won't tell anyone you're here._ Maybe they meant to leave her alone, planned on starving her until she'd finally be obedient. Or dead.

Asami concentrated on stretching her limbs as much as possible to avoid dwelling on that thought. After a while, she took to marking the passage of time by watching the sun's progress across the floor as it crept up to, and then over, the pitted lines between each slab of concrete. She fell into a doze.

When she startled awake again, the light was a lambent gold climbing the far wall. An insubstantial fear gathered in the pit of her stomach. They _had_ to come for her at some point right?

By early evening the bulb's harsh luminescence had taken over, casting ragged, sickly shadows around the cells. She heard the creak of a door, and a hushed voice. "Asami?"

"Dad!" Hiroshi appeared in front of her. He wearing an unfamiliar brown jacket instead of his usual waistcoat.

He looked concerned but otherwise unruffled. "Asami," he said. "The Lieutenant told me what happened. You were in my office?"

"Yes but I was just waiting, I just wanted to see you…"

He gave her a severe look. "He said you tried to attack him with one of our gloves. And that you had an overnight bag with you."

Asami's relief wavered, mirage-like. "It's just, the Equalists are getting to be too dangerous, you probably know about the kidnapping, I wanted to see if you'd come with me…and…"

Hiroshi sighed and reached in his jacket, bringing out a keyring and unlocking the door of her cell. "You're still having these foolish ideas?"

He entered and knelt down to undo the cord around Asami's ankles. She noticed his jacket had an almost military cut to it, with a thick koala sheepskin collar and a Future Industries patch over the left breast. Wide goggles were hanging from his neck.

He helped her to her feet and stopped her with a hand on her arm as he studied her over the top of his spectacles. "I know this has all been hard for you, and I'm sorry you had to find out about it the way you did. But that doesn't excuse this acting out."

Asami's heart thudded. Her hands were still tied. She half closed her eyes until lashes covered her view and dug the words out like splinters. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to cause trouble. I won't do it again."

Hiroshi considered, then let her go. "Good." He turned her round as she stepped free of the cell. "Let me get your arms."

Asami stared cell opposite as he pulled at the cord. She had her father alone again, this was her last chance to get through to him. "Dad? Why didn't you come for me sooner?" The last of the ties fell away and she turned to face him, rubbing her arms.

"I left the base early this morning to test some new machines. I didn't get back until a few hours ago." He stepped back, sticking his hands in his pockets with a benign air. "Now why don't we get you back to your room to clean up, and then you and I can have supper together."

Asami looked at the goggles again. "So was it the airplanes you were testing?"

"Aha." Hiroshi beamed and threw an arm around her back. Asami winced as he grazed a spot that was raw from the electricity, but she let him start walking her to the door. "So, you saw them already? That's a shame, I wanted to surprise you myself. But what did you think? We've been training the pilots up here at night, but this the first time it's been overcast enough for us to make a run during the day." He patted her shoulder cheerfully. "They're amazingly simple to operate, and I know I can talk Amon into letting me teach you."

_Are you insane?_ She bit down on that reply and tried to get back on track. "I think…I was wondering, what do you think Mom would think about all this?"

"What was that?" Hiroshi asked, looking ahead to the door.

_Benders took away your mother,_ he'd told her at the factory. _They ruined the world. _Asami stopped altogether. "Mom. What would Mom think?"

Saying it sent memories spilling through her mind; the disconnected remains of that time when she'd _had_ someone to call _Mom—_fragments of long skirts and a soft hand holding hers, of sounding out words in a storybook along with a melodious, warm voice, of hugs every night before bed. They all fell from a jeweled box she thought of as _Before,_ every moment painful and precious because it had all gone away_. _But most of all Asami remembered love. Her mother had been kind, caring. "She would hate this."

Hiroshi frowned deeply under his mustache. "Asami, what are you saying?"

She felt a repeat of yesterday's fiasco coming on. Her temper rose. "You said you're doing this for her, but she would never want it. Any of it. She'd hate you for doing it."

Her father bristled, incensed. "How dare you bring your mother into this." His voice took on a rattle and hiss, the sound of a pot boiling over. "Trying to use her against me when you have no idea—"

Asami clenched her hands into fists and glared back. "How dare _you._ You want us to be a family but all you love is the Equalists."

Hiroshi's eyes bulged and he lunged for her. "You ungrateful child!"

Asami's hands flew up in defense as she recoiled, but he only grabbed her by the wrist. "After everything I've done for you, you refuse to learn." His fingers dug into her skin. The shadows clung to him like cobwebs. "I see it was a mistake to let you out so soon."

He pivoted, pulling on her arm. He wasn't strong but his weight was enough to make her stumble forward. Asami's desperation spiraled out of control. He was trying to take her back to the cell and she'd been wrong about him, so wrong, there had never been any chance to save him.

She dug her heels in and pried at his fingers. "It's true." Her own shout sounded weak, absorbed by the walls pressing around them. "Mom would _hate_ you if she saw you now."

He rounded on her, his face a distorted lather of rage. "You insolent—you have no place talking about your mother, Asami_,_" he seethes. He crushed her wrist, yanking toward him. "Not when you're running around with _firebenders_ like a tramp."

Asami drew back in indignant shock, but Hiroshi's eyes were hard behind the spectacles. "I'd thought I could save you, but you're nothing but a bender-loving traitor. There is no hope for you."

She was nearing panic, and scarcely heard what he was saying. She couldn't let him do this to her, she—

A hand darted past her to seize his forearm. "That's enough, Hiroshi."

The voice smothered the fight like a wave washing over sand. Hiroshi released Asami's wrist and she jumped away.

She wanted to make a break for the door, but Amon was in the way, filling the hall. The severe light had rendered his coat a flat gray and the eyes of his mask were impenetrably dark. "What is going on here?"

"Asami is trying to leave," Hiroshi grated. "She's been nothing but insubordinate since she came here, and now she's trying to turn me against you." Asami wilted under his venomous glare and wrapped her arms around herself.

"We've discussed this, Hiroshi. I sent you to let her out."

"You didn't _hear_ her, Amon, the things she said." Hiroshi's anger rekindled and he snarled at Asami, moving to grab her again as she ducked away. "You disgraceful little—"

Amon stepped between them. "She is your _child_." His voice had lost none of its usual calm but there was a visceral force behind the words. The sound seemed to vibrate around her. "Leave it."

Hiroshi stared at him. He scuffed back a step and tugged his jacket down. "If you say so."

Amon addressed Asami over his shoulder. "I need to speak with you."

Asami nodded, still trying to make sense of how and why _Amon_ was on her side. His broad back blocked most of her view. Shouldn't he be helping Hiroshi haul her back to the cell?

He turned back. "There's still a lot of work to be done, Hiroshi."

Her father bowed. "Of course." He gave Asami one last glower as he left. She curled her hands together beneath her chin and closed her eyes.

"We'll meet in my quarters," Amon said. "I don't want any disturbances."

Asami let her hands fall and followed him in silence.

The mountains were black against a cloudy promise of snow. Asami started shivering after a minute or so, though she wasn't sure if it was from the cold or from the fight. She weighed the wisdom of running away on foot right now against the likelihood of freezing to death before she reached the city.

"I'm sorry about your father." Amon spoke without turning.

"It's not your fault." Asami pulled the rest of her hair from her collar and rubbed her forehead. "Or maybe it is, I don't know."

They reached the heavy double doors guarding the entrance to the guest annex. Amon paused with his hand on the metal handle and shook his head before pulling the door open. "No. As I told you, Hiroshi was angry when we met," he said. "But his interest in the anti-bending movement is becoming misdirected. He seems to be losing perspective, having trouble controlling his temper."

_Yeah, no kidding._ "What, like the rest of you are totally calm? You just want to do some nice terrorism, blow up a few buildings, maybe kidnap some people?"

They passed through the darkened lobby side-by-side. The emptiness tapped at her nerves like branches on a windowpane. Amon looked sidelong at her. "If you mean Avatar Korra, that was not the Equalists."

They stopped midway down a corridor that Asami didn't recognize. "Then who was it? Evil spirits?"

"Councilman Tarrlok. I don't have the details, but there was a confrontation last night which the Avatar lost. Tarrlok is trying to cover his tracks by blaming the Equalists."

_Tarrlok_. It sounded…plausible. Asami mulled it over as he unlocked a door and showed her in.

She recognized another of her father's innovations, an office designed to allow the occupant to work all night during hectic periods. Along one wall was a set of shelves and a small table, and opposite them was a narrow alcove with a small stove and cupboards. A futon was laid out in the back corner, just visible behind a huge desk. The walls were bare and white except for a cork board covered with pins and maps.

Amon offered her a chair in front of the desk, then crossed to sit behind it. "I will be going out with a team to subdue Tarrlok tonight, so this won't take long. But I have a proposition for you, Asami."

Asami's jittery energy was going flat. She delivered her automatic response. "I'm _not_ working for the Equalists."

He folded his hands before him on the desk. "You've met some of the people here, and I assume they've told you their reasons for joining. What is _your_ objection to the cause?"

Asami was at a loss, no one had never followed up on her denial before. "Well...everything." She ticked off the points on her fingers. "You're terrorists who want to take over the city, you're violent and destructive—"

"And if the arms buildup was primarily your father's initiative? If our goal is only to put non-benders and benders on equal footing?"

"What? What about the arena? What about the _airplanes_?"

Amon looked down to open a folder on the desk. "I'm not saying that revolution would be purely peaceful without him. The city has responded to the anti-bending movement with violence from the start." He stood and handed down several photographs: injured people laid out on a floor, others in hospital beds, what looked like a wrecked gym. Nothing more than what Maya had already described. "A show of force was—and still is—needed to ensure that non-bender voices are heard. The council of benders will not step down without a fight. But I want the revolution to be bloodless. Your father does not."

Asami dropped her hands to her lap, fanning the photos out between her fingers. She didn't want to have this conversation; all she wanted was to go lie down. She spoke to her knees. "Why can't you just go after the benders who are bad, like the Triads? Why do you have to threaten them _all_?"

Something he'd said earlier sank in and her eyes went back to Amon. "Wait, you're going after _Tarrlok_? Are you just going to let Korra go?"

"If she'd be willing to likewise leave my Equalists in peace." A newspaper was folded at one corner of the desk and he swiveled it around so Asami could see the front page. She recognized the same photograph that she'd glimpsed yesterday. Korra was standing between Mako and Bolin, all three posing as if for a pro-bending team poster with arms crossed and chests out. Their grins jumped out from the monochrome colors.

It wasn't for pro-bending though, they were on a street. They were standing behind a row of people hunched on the ground and Asami counted four chi blockers and three others in prison stripes. Their heads were down and the angle of their arms behind their backs suggested they were handcuffed. Her shoulders twinged.

It took Asami a second to realized the white mound behind them was Naga. She wondered whose idea it had been—maybe Bolin's, or Korra's. It was hard to believe it'd only been a few days since she'd last seen them. She was probably a stranger to them now. _Or an enemy. _Asami lay the photos he'd given her face down atop the newspaper.

Amon bent down behind the desk and came up holding a bag—her green bag, the one she'd packed this morning. Mystified, Asami rose to accept it. She checked under the flap. The glove was back in place and she started to wonder if this was all another dream.

"Your position here hasn't changed and you are still free to go. Given your father's actions today, I wouldn't blame you." Amon slid another sheet of paper over to her. "But you should read this first."

The logo for the Republic City police was at the top of the page. It was a mimeographed copy of a report about..._likely source of leaked information to the Equalists...presumed to be staying on an Equalist base…given Hiroshi Sato's status, may hold a high rank within the organization…warrant has been issued. Arrest on sight._

The strap slipped through Asami's slack fingers and the bag dropped with a soft _thunk_. She could have guessed it beforehand, but seeing it typed out made it all too real. _They already think I'm an Equalist._ Even if she made it to the city, the police wouldn't listen to her any more than her father would. Her life had been broken even further, and she'd done it all by herself. _Asami Sato_ was a criminal and traitor just like her father, worth nothing but a pair of handcuffs. She might as well have stayed in the cell. "So you think I should join the Equalists because everyone else thinks I already have."

"The report is so you know what it is you'll be facing if you choose to leave. The Triads will be looking for you as well, since they see the Equalists as a threat to their control of the city." Amon strolled around the desk. "I want you to join us because of your talents and because you've already shown you can face challenges with strength, and grace."

Asami nearly laughed aloud. She'd been anything _but _graceful or strong. But he was watching her closely. "The Equalists need someone like you. Someone with your skill and knowledge, whose mind isn't…clouded by memories. Someone rational and calm."

She couldn't believe what she was hearing. There was no lurking threat in Amon's voice, not so much as a hint of intimidation. Had he really rescued her for a _job interview_? "You know I tried to electrocute your Lieutenant, right?"

The low chuckle unsettled her even more. "He tends to jump to conclusions," he said. "And he defaults to confrontation." He stopped a few feet away. "I have no problem with you defending yourself. I don't have any use for cowards."

Asami tried to keep up. "So…you want _me_ to do Dad's job?"

"More or less." Amon retrieved the report and returned it to a folder on the desk. "You know about his erratic behavior and you've seen evidence of it yourself. Continuing in this line of work will only make his condition worse and could endanger his fellow Equalists."

_You've seen evidence of it yourself._ She was never going to forget her father's face as he'd yelled at her. But when she tried to imagine herself in his role...the idea was slippery, hard to grasp. The Equalists were awful, she couldn't be one of them. "What will happen to him?"

"Fewer duties and, if he accepts, a return to overseeing Future Industries. The company will still be of great value to the city."

Asami did laugh at that, short and brittle. "I hate to break it to you, but the city already has the company. And I don't think they'll be putting Dad back in charge any time soon."

It was supposed to be a quip, but her voice died on the words...it had been because of Tarrlok and Saikhan threatening Future Industries that she'd first thought...she'd been so sure of herself, done this all for her father and for the company and look what it had come to. All her failures and defeats began climbing up—Dad, Future Industries, Mako, Korra, Bolin, Tenzin...

"The revolution has begun," Amon was saying. It sounded like yet another speech. "And the time when the Equalists are seen as criminals is coming to an end. Your family's company will be restored to you and your father will be recognized as a hero."

Asami looked away. "Not by me he won't." He'd called her a disgrace and a traitor, nothing but hate in his face. All of this had been for nothing, her stupid idea had fallen apart. She'd lost everything by trying to help her father. _I have nothing left. _She dug her fingers into her side, trying to get the feelings under control.

Amon paused_,_ and put his hand over her shoulder. "I'm sorry for what he said to you. But the world _will _be changing, starting with Republic City." His voice had a velvet timbre and the rhythm of his speech was mesmerizing. "You could be a powerful symbol, Asami. You could do a lot of good in your role."

It pulled her from her despair for a moment. "You mean making speeches about how great Equalism is, coming up with even worse weapons? No thanks."

"No." The whole room seemed to become a background to Amon's uncompromising presence. "I'm talking about building the machines that will replace bending. You can help create a new era where people are able to live without it entirely. You'll be an inspiration to millions, to all those people who think they have no choice now but to submit to benders."

He made it sound so grand, when all she'd managed to do so far was fail at everything and turn everyone against her. Asami searched him for signs of deception or mocking and met only a clear, steady gaze. "You're wrong," she said in a threadbare voice. "I can't do any of that. I can't handle this kind of stuff at all."

"You can, Asami." He pressed down on her shoulder. "And you won't be working alone."

Desolation overcame her without warning. _Alone_, she _was_ alone, it was unbearable and Asami pitched forward, reaching for someone, anyone, else in her starless sky. Her forehead met a chest and her hands closed around coarse cloth.

She found herself leaning on Amon; leaning as if he were a friend, as if he cared, as if he were someone who could ease this wasteland feeling.

The illusion only lasted a moment. Amon had gone rigid and his hand was frozen on her shoulder. Self-consciousness started to elbow through the bleak misery, and Asami counted slow heartbeats—_one_…_two_—bracing herself for the awkwardness that was going to come next. She would apologize and then she would go crawl into her bed and never leave it again.

And then—_three_—his arm crept up around her back.

After a few seconds more he released her shoulder, and lowered that hand to join the first. His arms were so loose that he was barely touching her. Asami pressed against him anyway. It wasn't the most affectionate embrace, but she would take it. It was better than nothing.

Seconds ticked by and his hold tightened ever so slightly. She could barely feel the sore spots on her back anymore.

Asami closed her eyes and curled her fingers deeper into his coat. _It wouldn't be so bad to stay here_, she thought. _Right here. _At some point, if he hadn't changed his mind after being forced to hug her, Amon would want a decision about the job. When this ended she'd have to return to the airfield, to the Equalists, to every bleak and hopeless avenue of her life; and so she stayed right where she was and took what comfort she could from the scant contact. No matter how much Amon might hate it, no matter how much he was suffering under that carved smile.

An image of the mask rose behind her eyes, reminding her _you are clinging to Amon_. There was no excuse, she needed to stop and step away right now...or now_...okay now. _

She could feel the rise and fall of his chest. If only he could just be someone else.

It was that, more a whim than real thought, which moved her hand. With her face still buried in his chest, Asami traced upward until her fingertips met the edge of the mask. With the lightest pressure, she began pushing up.

Slim fingers wrapped around hers, holding her back. He said nothing.

Neither of them moved, but he went on holding her hand. Asami decided the scene was officially a _tableau_, tense with potential. All her pains had gone, replaced by an effervescence in her veins. Buoyed by an airy sense of unreality, she lifted on tiptoe with a barely voiced _please _and touched her lips to the juncture of his jaw and neck.

He tilted his head into the touch, a fraction of a movement. The mask was cool against her warming skin and the motion was enough to flood her with optimism. Asami drew back and placed another kiss, this one open and direct. He stirred and a hand flattened against her back.

The situation had taken—was taking—an unexpected turn, but now that she was on this new route Asami was determined to keep going. The unwillingness to abandon the luxury of being held was stronger than any need for restraint. A nervousness started with _but Amon _and Asami swept it into a corner, focusing on the solidness of his chest, his shoulders, his arms. _Just a man._ She kissed his jaw again, just because she could. Another few heartbeats passed and he bent his head to her ear. His thumb ran over her cheek and she thought she could feel his breath eddying her hair.

"Close your eyes." It barely resembled the voice from the radio, the one that shouted things like _the revolution has begun. _Asami breathed assent. He shifted again, and her peripheral vision caught dark hair as he pulled the hood back and began lifting the mask away. She shut her eyes tight and stumbled into a darkness filled with sensation: his hand behind her head, his fingers in her hair, his lips meeting hers with a sigh she felt rather than heard.

He was almost as tentative about the kiss as he'd been about holding her. There was an odd ripple to the feel of him and Asami thought of his story, _firebenders took my family, then they took my face. _She touched, sightless and sympathetic, brushing deep ridges before Amon eased her hand away. She took the hint, running her hands behind his shoulders to pull him in. He murmured and then responded with fervor, clutching at her.

He broke away when she hit the edge of the desk. She hadn't even known they were moving. Feeling bold, Asami found her way to his ear to nip at it. He made an exciting noise and buried his face in her neck.

And then he stopped, and drew away again. Asami tried to lead him back to her with her hands in his collar—didn't he know that interrupting things would only mean rethinking them? This was a good idea, they just had to keep going...Amon pulled her wrists down and she felt his forehead touch against hers as he drew in another deep breath. He exhaled and his warmth left her.

With collapsing spirits, Asami listened to a scrape on her right, the sound of a piece of wood being picked up from the desk and, she imagined, tied back into place. It was only when she heard the door slam shut that she thought to open her eyes again.

_First time for everything _she told herself. It was easier than thinking _what is wrong with me_? Not even Mako had ever run out on her like that. She was lucky, she'd been on the brink of something disastrous. _Think how embarrassed you were about that dream._

Asami drummed her fingers along the desk's surface, listening to the muted noise, and then crossed her arms. She twisted around to look at the folders and papers behind her. She ought to take advantage of being alone in here, do some reconnaissance, steal important documents or something. But the idea made her feel grubby, as if the kisses had just been a ploy to gain secrets. She glared across the room at the ridiculous kitchen space. _You could always poison his food. _

The green bag was lying on the floor, and she poked it with her boot. That was the other thing she should do. He'd said she could leave any time she'd wanted. But that left the police, the Triads, all still waiting for her in Republic City. Asami hunched her shoulders, trying to stop the rising distress. Nothing was alright after all, she was still at the bottom of an unclimbable pit and now all she could think was that she wanted Amon back here to hold her, and more. _Amon, _of all people.

The hallways seemed blurry and barren once she left the office and finding her room at last felt like finding an island in an empty sea. She closed the door on the world and looked around at her trunks and suitcases, the things she'd been ready to leave behind, and felt an irrational gratitude for it all. Everything was terrible but somehow, right now, this one small space felt like a sanctuary_._

To make things worse, tea had been delivered sometime while she was out. Asami debated, and decided she would clean up first.

Her reflection in the mirror didn't look nearly as bad as she'd thought. She was a little mussed and dusty but there were no bruises. Just a few scrapes along her neck. Asami touched them curiously, not certain how they could have gotten there.

The color smudged and came away on her fingers. It was creamy, like makeup; but she hadn't put any on this morning. She leaned into the mirror and found another faint streak on her forehead, and another at the corner of her mouth.

Asami pulled a washcloth from its brass rack and wiped at her skin until it was all gone. She regarded the pink-smeared cloth, thinking through her day and finding nothing to explain it. She looked at her fingers. Had the paint been on them too? Amon's face had felt strange; not that she knew was giant burn scars were supposed to feel like, but...Maya's declaration came to her. _He understands what it's like._ Amon, who was scarred so badly by firebenders that he had to wear a mask. A mask that made him a perfect symbol for non-benders everywhere, their spirit-blessed champion.

How much had any of that ever mattered to her though? She wasn't an Equalist and she'd never been too spiritually inclined herself. Asami tossed the washcloth aside and disrobed before stepping into the shower. Everyone else could see what they liked in Amon's mask. She just had to decide if she cared what lay beneath it.


	9. Chapter 9

_Sato's daughter, all of eighteen._ Amon felt behind his head and yanked his hood back into place. What was he _thinking_?

He forced himself to keep walking as frustration clamped down. He knew what he'd been thinking, but that was a lapse in judgment that belonged to the distant past, two decades ago at least, long before he'd even donned the mask and effectively withdrawn from the romantic sphere. Leaving aside his failure to anticipate that she'd make a move at all—should he have seen it coming? She hadn't shown any interest before, he was certain—there was no excusing his response.

Amon ran a hand down the front of his coat. The fabric had gathered where Asami had held it, with each fist clenched tight. He could still feel the pressure against his chest. Coat.

_Asami, Asami_. A name like water through rushes. She was supposed to be a solution, not another problem.

He passed her room, and the darkness behind the door was a reminder that he'd left her in his quarters. He needed to go back, fix this and finish driving in the posts that would keep her tethered to the Equalists. _Without _getting sidetracked into juvenile activities again, because it would be a disaster to let such a thing affect either of them. She had too much potential to risk on something so trivial.

He could explain it away, tell her that he'd been trying to comfort her. With his mouth. _It seemed like a good idea at the time, Ms. Sato. _Amon huffed beneath his mask. The moist air simply blasted back over his face. What was wrong with him?

"Amon, sir!" Wen bounced into view at the far end of the hall. "The Lieutenant's back, with Chin. They're ready to go."

"Very well." Amon considered the boy as he followed him to the front door. Wen had spent time around Asami, maybe he would have some insight—but he was the type to ask questions, and then more questions. Better to leave it.

Outside, he breathed in the muted evening air to calm the whitecap thoughts she'd stirred up_. _This mission would demand absolutes from him, a riptide certainty. There was no room in the plan for dwelling on indiscretions.

At least Wen would be out with them this evening, removing the possibility that Ms. Sato might share recent developments with him. Amon had brushed off enough starry-eyed flirtations over the years to know his followers didn't expect him to be a complete ascetic, but the eve of the revolution was not the time to be starting frivolous rumors.

The air was filling with large, sticky snowflakes. The latest report had Tarrlok fleeing the city nearly an hour ago, and they needed to depart before the roads became impassable. Amon decided there was no chance of going back to Asami this evening. The blockades he'd put up would be enough to keep her in place for the time being anyway—for all her shows of defiance, Asami Sato was sheltered enough to fear being alone in the unwelcoming city and a little romantic insult wouldn't be enough to overcome that.

As long as she kept her mind off her father, of course. Amon cursed silently, scowling as he strode toward the garage. He'd warned Hiroshi that his daughter needed careful handling, and the man had to go off and nearly assault her. The damage had been written all over her face when he'd intervened. Her eyes had been so wide.

Amon breathed in again and smoothed the front of his coat.

The Lieutenant loped across the yard to join him. No one remembered his real name; since joining the movement he'd insisted on being known by his rank alone. "Beifong and Tenzin broke into the tunnels with a couple of benders. They were looking for the Avatar," he said. "They got Jun, Hahn and Maya, and took off with all of the metalbender prisoners."

"They aren't metalbenders anymore." Amon brushed the sifting snow from his shoulders. "Leave the others for now, the police won't move them from the holding cells for another day. Have you cleared the location?"

"It's underway. Chin was there too, but he made it out. I only arrived as they were leaving." The Lieutenant pulled the end of his mustache, a sign he was feeling defensive about the failure. "They tore a hole in the ceiling to get away."

"Repair it, then." Useful as his subordinate might be, his confrontation with Asami this morning had left Amon displeased. The Lieutenant had more of an excuse for his behavior than Hiroshi, but not much. _Asami Sato may be more valuable than the two of you put together. _She'd been little more than a pacifier for Hiroshi when they'd obtained her—for all the good that did—and a pain in the ass thereafter, but now that Amon had seen a real use for her he wasn't going to let her be driven away by a couple of grown men who couldn't control their tempers.

They approached the idling truck together. They would be a small team tonight, three chi blockers, the Lieutenant and himself. Lian sat on the truck's bed and nodded along as Chin talked about something while leaning on the open door next to her. His shoulders were hunched and his arms folded tightly.

They perked up when they saw Amon, scrambling to slide on their hoods and stand at attention. Wen fell in line beside them and the Lieutenant snapped, "Chin, Lian, you're in the back with me. Wen, you drive."

The team broke apart and climbed in the truck without another word. Amon had no doubt that they'd all jumped at the chance to take part in the mission, despite its hazardous nature. Every Equalist considered it a great honor to to work with their leader in person.

* * *

Wen peered through the windshield, following tire tracks in the shallow snow, and inched the truck along a narrow road cut into the mountainside. It was barely wider than the vehicle itself and on the passenger side, a sheer cliff dropped a hundred meters to the forest floor. Amon watched the burrs of evergreens below him with disinterest.

He decided that he'd been correct in his predictions about Asami Sato,. She just shared her father's tendency toward occasional erratic behavior. At least her surprise displays of affection would be easier to manage than Hiroshi's veers into blind rage. Amon's hand had been forced when strategy sessions turned into dissections of filial betrayal and flight trainings became soliloquies on the horrors of one's only child sharing a roof with the Avatar. Sato was only useful if he was sane.

In the end, it took just a pluck to disrupt the flow in a coronary artery and a steady press to hold it there for a minute. It was nothing compared to the gossamer intricacy that taking bending required, and the move brought Hiroshi's daughter reeling back to his side. Though once Hiroshi had her back, he simply accelerated along his personal road to madness.

They came to a series of switchbacks along the mountain's face, causing Wen to hiss through his teeth as he eased around each hairpin turn.

The day before yesterday Amon had been ready to write it all off as a loss and move on with planning the city's future without Sato. But then his thoughts kept snagging on her. _Asami._ Finally he'd taken a step back and seen the obvious solution. Asami Sato, lucid, composed and lovely, sharing her father's knowledge and talent, was perfectly formed to fill the gap that Amon had thought to plaster over with Hiroshi. _She_ would be his model non-bender, the inventor who exemplified and glorified Equalism for the public. Republic City would embrace her, adore her, and—since she even had the requisite story of tragedy—sympathize with her, and through her it would come to accept the changes brought around by Equality.

Asami Sato would in fact be making many speeches about how great Equalism was. But by the time she found that out, Amon meant to have her so entangled that objection would be out of the question.

In time, he would move her on to other projects as he'd promised her; part of her appeal to ordinary citizens would be a demonstrated willingness to pitch in and support the operations of a bending-free city. Theater only went so far, at some point you had to give people a real reason to tolerate the disruption to their lives. With Asami's assistance, Republic City would become his beacon of success, the capital of the anti-bending movement.

The road finally opened onto a ledge that jutted out over the valley. Tarrlok's hideout stood at the end, two stories of rotting boards over a sagging frame. The cabin was a dilapidated relic from another era, forgotten like its original owner. Tarrlok must have been more thorough about researching Republic City's notorious crime boss than Amon had been. If he'd known about this place when he first came to the city, he would have burnt it to the ground.

The twilight made it hard to tell if lights were on indoors, but a city truck was parked outside. "Where should I park?" Wen asked nervously.

"Pull forward past the councilman's vehicle and stop there." It didn't matter much, but it would be easier to carry their captives to the truck at least.

Wen joined the others as they hopped down from the back. They arrayed themselves with passable discipline before Amon, and he addressed them with his back to the cabin. The breeze picked up and sent more snow swirling around them. "We will take Councilman Tarrlok first. He'll have the Avatar restrained, so we can collect her after that. Wait in the front room for him to come to us." He paused. "Be careful with the councilman. Do not attack until I give the order."

He received nods and a simultaneous, "Yes sir!" Amon turned and started toward the icy steps.

* * *

Tarrlok's defeat left him inert and uncommunicative, but Amon nudged him into full unconsciousness anyway and told the Lieutenant to use the kali sticks if he should wake.

Wen was leaning over the steering wheel, relying on headlights alone to find the road. He glanced sideways at Amon. "So what about the Avatar, sir? Are you going to go after her later?"

"She's not necessary at this time." He phrased it to discourage further questions. It would be inconvenient if the Avatar froze to death, but he wasn't going to waste time sending a search party after her. Anyway, she was still so haplessly ineffective that her continued freedom was more of a loose end than a threat. Amon smiled mirthlessly as he recalled the skip of the Avatar's heart when he'd just _looked_ at her. He supposed her speed in running away from him could be called impressive.

Back at the airfield the Lieutenant helped him drag Tarrlok into the holding cells. "I'll see to him for now," Amon told him. "No one else is to talk to him, and his presence here will be kept confidential. The councilman is dangerous even without his bending."

Tarrlok lay on his side, still comatose. He was dressed in his usual blue finery, and his skin was turning pallid in the unheated air. The Lieutenant bowed and left to relay the order to the rest of the team. Amon watched him go as a tiny tension unwound like a clock spring. There were so many ways this might have gone wrong, but now he could be sure that Tarrlok wouldn't be a problem.

He returned the guest annex. A seam of light showed around the door to Asami Sato's room and a single presence radiated inside. He paused and made sure the measured pulse was hers. It wasn't slow enough for sleep. Perhaps she was waiting up for him, expecting an explanation for the incident.

What had he been_ thinking? _

Although she had shown a lot of enthusiasm once they got started. Her breath in his ear had been…well, if it indicated some crush on him, that meant she would be willing to forgive any imagined offense when he spoke to her tomorrow.

In his room, Amon had to search through cupboards before he found a serviceable crate. He found a flaking water skin and filled it from the tap and scavenged a store-bought packet of seal jerky from the shelves, along with a bag of dried seaweed obtained at the dockside market. These went into the crate on top of two folded wool blankets. Amon regarded the set doubtfully. He kept so few things at this base.

At the last minute he thought to check the closet, and found a heavy black parka trimmed with polar leopard fur and gloves lined with the same. He recalled setting them aside long ago in case of some unforeseen need to flee deeper into the mountains. They both went in with the rest.

Amon lifted the crate, and then stopped. If Tarrlok was awake, he might want to talk to him.

He double-checked the lock on the door and went to the washroom. It was bare, and not much more than a cupboard itself. He started the water running before sliding the mask over his head. There were certain supplies that he _did_ keep in every base. It would be no trouble to reapply the scar when he was done.

The chipped mirror showed that the paint was already starting to blur and wear off. Amon dampened a cloth with warm water and wiped the streaks from the inside of the mask first, then cupped his hands under the stream and splashed his face. He scrubbed with the cloth, dislodging thick chunks of the scar. Pinkish water streamed between his fingers and he kept at it until it ran clear again.

He was cleaning the sink, watching red and pink dissolve and streak along the white porcelain, when she swept back into his mind. _Asami._ He'd taken off the mask, she'd touched his face, he'd been at her_ neck_. The paint always rubbed off so easily. Amon gripped the edges of the basin.

He looked sideways at the mask, face down on the shelf, and back in the mirror. _What. Were. You. Thinking? _Asami Sato was no fool, she would be able to draw her own conclusions if she found anything. Seeing her had just become a much higher priority.

But there was still _Tarrlok_ to attend to.

Amon flicked the remaining splashes of water from the floor and flung the blob into the sink. It burst, sending water sloshing over the sides. He closed his eyes with an especially blasphemous oath about Tui and La, and bent to sop up the mess with a towel.

* * *

Tarrlok was slouched in a back corner with his head in his hands. His face had more lines than the newspaper photos had shown. Perhaps it was a symptom of recent stress. Or maybe clawing his way up the political ladder had taken its toll on Tarrlok over the years.

His eyes latched onto Amon when the lock clicked open. There were bruise-like shadows beneath them, and his breath sounded shallow. Amon entered the cell and lowered the crate to the floor as Tarrlok went on staring.

His fingers drew down from his hair, leaving it sticking out in parts, and he slung his forearms over his knees and let his hands dangle between them in what appeared to be an attempt at looking leisurely. His smile seemed dredged up from some deep mire. "Hello, Noatak."

The name landed on Amon like a bird on a nest. He'd braced himself for the likelihood that Tarrlok would recognize him, but now that it had happened he found it scarcely disturbed him. More interesting was the fact that it confirmed his theory about whether bloodbending could have a recognizable signature. He pushed the crate forward with a foot. "Food, water, outerwear, and blankets."

Tarrlok looked at it and then back up to Amon, and he clambered to his feet and stepped forward. His arms spread and for a moment, Amon thought he might be closing in for a reunion embrace. But Tarrlok only turned his palms out in a broad gesture. The smile remained fixed. "Not even a 'hello', after all these years?"

_Very well. _Amon tugged the hood down as Tarrlok watched and removed his mask, lowering it to his side with two fingers hooked through the eyes. "Hello, Tarrlok." _That_ name fell through him like an iron weight.

Tarrlok, for his part, gave a laugh. "I don't believe it. I _knew_ it, but I still don't believe it." He turned away, throwing his arms up. Amon thought he looked rather shaky on his feet. His voice grew hoarse. "You were dead. All these years I—we'd thought you died, and Father—Mother—you've been alive, all this time, and now you're _here_—you're—you—" His breath gave out and he bent over with a forearm against the cement blocks.

His pulse was erratic and his skin was still too pale. Amon crouched down and pulled the fur-trimmed parka from the crate, leaving the mask atop the gloves. He went to Tarrok's side and thrust the coat beneath his nose. "You've spent too much time in the cold. Here." Tarrlok didn't move. Amon shook it. "It's your fault for going out without proper clothes." One of the first things any Water Tribe child learned.

Tarrlok's eyes snapped open and he drew himself up to face Amon. "I had winter gear in the truck," he said testily. "At the cabin. _Yakone's_ cabin." He slapped the coat from Amon's hands and grabbed his collar. "You..."

Tarrlok was definitely worse off than he'd thought. Amon tilted his head and tried a kindly smile. "You always used to wear my hand-me-downs, remember?"

Tarrlok made a gurgling noise and tried to shake him. Amon was reminded of the times he'd take a toy from Tarrlok and hold it above his head, observing as his little brother went into conniptions trying to reach it. The game usually led to tears, and often ended with their mother putting them in opposite corners.

"How?" Tarrlok was shouting in his face. "How is it possible that _this_"—he jerked on the collar with some actual force this time—"is you?"

Tarrlok had taken after Mother when they were young, but now he looked uncannily like Yakone in his rage. Amon pried his brother's fingers off of him. "I'm doing what's right," he told Tarrlok. "I'm sure I don't need to explain the reason for the mask." Of all people, Tarrlok should understand. He ought to be welcoming this. "This is how things should be."

Tarrlok yanked his arm free and swung at him. Amon leaned back, letting the fist sail past his nose. _Of course_ _it has been a lot of years_. It might take some work before Tarrlok would come around to the right way of thinking.

The exercise seemed to have exhausted Tarrlok. The fight went out of him and he staggered in a circle back to the corner. "Noatak. Amon. Both of you." He sank down, covering his eyes. "Go away."

Amon picked up the parka and brought it over to him. "Tarrlok, you need to understand—"

Tarrlok put his hands over his ears and Amon clicked his tongue in irritation. _Same old Tarrlok_. He draped the coat over his brother's knees and it slid to one side and puddled on the floor.

Amon returned to the crate and retrieved his mask. He looked at Tarrlok, who was still staring down with his fingers flexing in an unconscious tic. He used to fidget like that during their father's lessons too, always getting too upset, always stubbornly worried about the wrong thing. Amon realized he should have known Tarrlok would behave like this. He turned away.

"You idiot." The croak floated up behind him and Amon glanced back to find Tarrlok glowering at him. Bloodshot eyes traveled between the mask and his face, and his momentary show of rancor sagged back into passivity. He shoved his fingers back into his hair and removed his attention to the floor. He shook his head. "You absolute idiot. Why couldn't you stay dead?"

Amon turned around and stepped out of the cell. "You'll be moved to a less temporary location tomorrow. Good night, Tarrlok."

* * *

He stopped at the hangar to check on the preparations for tomorrow, radioing the other bases for their reports. He reiterated to the night crew that Tarrlok be left alone, and returned to his quarters for the night.

He found himself traveling past her room again. The light was still on and she was awake. Amon considered. He should talk to her now, before she had too much time to dwell on things.

Knocking, and waiting for a response, felt strange. It had been a long time since he'd needed to observe the usual niceties; either a door was open to him or he needed to break in. And he seemed to be waiting a long time here. Amon rapped again and started constructing the reason he would give when he simply unlocked it and—

The door opened. _Asami. _Asami, framed by a narrow slat of lamplight, surprise rounding her eyes. They really were unusual, Amon felt, more translucent than the usual forest shades of the Earth Kingdom.

He was not given to appreciating beauty for its own sake, but he knew the value of aesthetics. The colors of the anti-bending movement served as warning to benders and a show of strength to non-benders, red and black transmitting urgency and necessity, saying t_he revolution will not be denied._ Asami Sato, in all her symmetry and contrasts, might as well have been commissioned to adorn their posters. A few of them, anyway. He was getting off track. "We need to talk," Amon said.

Asami leaned on the doorjamb, raising her eyebrows like a bored socialite considering an unexpected caller. She did have a knack for leaping from tolerable to aggravating in an instant, and after Tarrlok he was in no mood to cater to the whims of the privileged. He put his hands behind his back to restrain himself from shoving the door open.

Her eyes followed the motion and flicked all the way down to his boots. The haughtiness sloughed away as she straightened. "Did you capture Tarrlok?" she asked.

The snow lacing his clothes must have reminded her. At the back of his mind Amon could hear each structured flake giving way to fluidity as it melted. "Yes."

"And Korra?"

In some ways Asami Sato was as simple as a storybook. That pretense to cynicism and suspicion would buckle as soon as it ran against something she cared about. The world had been too kind to her for it to be otherwise. "She escaped." _Quite possibly skiing to her isolated death from hypothermia._ Amon could see the same thought shaping itself in Asami, so he added, "With her waterbending. She's certainly back in Republic City by now." He'd find out tomorrow.

Asami's eyes closed and her deep sigh seemed to carry with it the release of some tightly chained fear. Amon noted the reaction. If she was _that_ concerned about the Avatar, then it was likely her acting out this morning was caused by the news of her disappearance. Which meant he would need to manage any information Asami received about the Avatar from now on.

Asami the door and let it fall open. She crossed her arms and Amon realized that she wasn't fully dressed—or rather, she was wearing just a long dressing gown, a lavender-colored silk tied at the waist. Of course she'd be in nightclothes at this hour. It was fortunate she and Hiroshi were on bad terms at the moment, as it might be a challenge for Amon to explain to Sato why he'd visited his teenage daughter's room so late at night.

"So this is about earlier?" Her eyes met his and their novel hue, the light in them, distracted Amon again. _Like the aurora_, he decided. Every shifting feeling and thought rippled through them. Her gaze slid to the side when he didn't answer and she lowered her lashes. "I haven't decided yet, if that's what you're wondering."

Amon eyed the room over the top of her head. No signs of disturbance around her luggage, her hair was slightly damp—just starting to curl—so she'd bathed as well. All good signs; she wasn't about to leave anytime soon. "You can sleep on it," he said. He hadn't really thought of where to take the conversation past this point. Hopefully she'd lead the way and he could guide her toward the right conclusion. Something that kept her compliant, he supposed, while putting their shared moment of intimacy behind them.

Asami was still looking away, tapping one fingernail against her lower lip. Her hair fell over her face and an impulse to push it aside twitched down Amon's arm.

She seemed to come to a decision. "Just a second." She disappeared.

Without her figure blocking the view, the room seemed very bright. She seemed to have all the lights on at once. She returned, opening the door wide and tossing a cloth at him. Amon let it flap into his chest and caught it as it dropped._ A washcloth?_ Stained with pink. Oh.

Asami re-crossed her arms and cocked her hip to one side. Her bravado was betrayed by the flutter in her chest. "It's the scar, right? I found it on my face after we—" She looked away, propping her elbow in one hand as she lifted the other to gesture vaguely. Her sleeve slipped down, revealing a thin wrist. "After we kissed. Anyway I wasn't wearing makeup so I guess it has to be yours. It's more like the kind of stuff actors wear, so I figure—" Her eyes wouldn't stay on him.

The washcloth tumbled to the floor as his hands went to the knot behind his head, pulling it loose. The mask slipped down into his waiting fingers before he realized what he was doing.

Asami halted her elliptical speculation. "Oh."

Amon became aware that he was standing unmasked and scar-free out in the open. He felt around for the reason behind such an extraordinary thing.

"Do I get to go back to jail now that I know?" There was genuine anxiety in the question. She seemed especially delicate in her current attire, though Amon knew it would be a mistake to think of Asami as some ethereal flower. She did have layers beneath that unaffected sincerity, an admirable resourcefulness and cleverness. Fear would get him nowhere with her.

"Nothing will happen to you. The offer I made earlier stays the same." She seemed to relax at that, and Amon found something compelling about her evident relief. It reminded him of the way she'd leaned against him earlier, nearly falling into him. Once the surprise had passed, the fact that she would trust him like was flattering, in a way…

She shifted her weight to the other side and studied his face. Her eyebrows knit. "How old are you?"

"Thirty-five," he said. Only one living person aside from himself knew his real age and it would stay that way. Dismay chased over her face and disappeared. _All of eighteen_. Amon cleared his throat. "The scar is false." He began unspooling the rhetoric he'd prepared in the unlikely event that this became an issue. "But it is necessary. If an ordinary man stepped up to lead the Equalists, someone recognizable who could be targeted by the police and the Triads, the movement would have gone nowhere. Would non-benders feel safe putting their faith in someone like that? Would it be better that the anti-bending movement had no leader, if it stayed small and ineffectual?"

Asami wheeled around, throwing her hands up like Tarrlok had. "Yes, of course it would be better. Everything, the city, my whole life, my dad—"

"Hiroshi would be no happier without us," Amon corrected her. "You should know that by now." He took a more familiar tack. "Would you trade the safety of millions for your own comfortable life? Without the Equalists, non-benders will have no reason to believe they can defend themselves from attacks, on the street and in their homes."

There was more. He would tell the fearful, _stand up for yourself and your fellow non-benders,_ encourage the hopeless by telling them, _make a difference in the world, _and prod the angry with,_ it's time the non-benders of this world fought back. _Hiroshi Sato had lit like a struck match when he heard the last.

But Asami's face crumpled, like it had in his office. It had to be the argument with her father again. Amon frowned. He needed to do something about that, patch it up before she went to pieces over it. "And of course your father has had a very different life from you, Ms. Sato," he said, "and a longer one. He's experienced the oppression of non-benders in ways that you haven't. He should have understood your hesitation about joining the anti-bending movement." Spirits knew, Amon had said as much to Hiroshi often enough. "He—"

"Just stop." She pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead and closed her eyes. "All I've done tonight is think about it. I don't want to hear anymore. Not about Dad, not about benders."

Her rebuff left him at something of a loss. Asami Sato needed a lighter touch than most, but if she refused to listen to anything at all…she opened her eyes and he thought about approaching her again, touching her shoulder. She'd responded so well to that before.

He didn't get the chance. Asami marched up to him and seized the mask, and skipped away when Amon reached out to take it back. Annoyance sparked in him—another unexpected—and this—she might damage it—what was she doing, he wasn't going to play _keep-away_ with her...

"I've also been thinking," she said. She traced the pattern on the face, then ran one finger down the curved nose. "About what happened earlier. I guess I can understand why you left, but why are you here now?"

"We left our conversation unfinished." He'd never been so aware of the design of the mask, the shape of the lines as she followed them. He was still displeased, this was foolish nonsense. He really should be taking it away from her.

Asami sniffed. "'We.'" She ran a thumb over the empty smile. "Does anyone else know about the scar?"

"I have a brother." Why was he telling her that? "He knows. No one else."

She turned it over in her hands. "So that means the farm story is fake too?"

She'd picked up on that. _An admirable resourcefulness and cleverness._ Amon felt like he was walking the edge of a precipice. "No. I was raised in the north."

"Mm."

"It was better if my past remained unknown," he added.

Asami turned her luminous eyes on him again. "But you really can take bending?"

"Yes."

She turned the mask over again and walked back to him. _Asami. _Her hair was like black water, he could almost feel its liquid fall down her shoulders.

She held the mask up over his face and studied it. "Do you really want to take everyone's bending?"

"Of course not," he said. He might not be able to get to everyone in the world, at least not right away. Republic City would be a good start. "Just those who want to suppress the non-benders again."

"And…you said I can help keep things peaceful?"

"Yes."

"What about people like my friends? Like Korra, or Mako?"

"I'm not out to hurt any of them." True enough, once they were equalized. She did seem inclined to forget that her own family's great loss had been caused by firebenders. Her empathy for them needed to be broken apart with a few well-placed blows. "A bender did take my family from me," he began. "No one else should have to have to suffer that loss."

Asami didn't resist when he tugged the mask from her fingers. She went on scrutinizing him as he lifted it. "I like you better without it," she said.

"The mask or the scar?" He was having trouble recalling the next point he'd meant to make about firebenders.

"Both." She seemed about to reach for his face but changed her mind halfway and settled a languid hand on his chest instead. Amon found it fascinating. She could flatten her palm to push him away, or curl her fingers to pull him in.

She appeared to be engrossed by it as well. "Aren't you worried about standing around here like this?" she asked.

"The building is nearly empty. No one comes this way." Undefined anticipation was branching outward from her touch, spreading like cracks in ice. An abstract notion that he should put a stop to this swam past.

"Oh." Asami closed her hand until the cloth was bunched in her fist and Amon was too busy resisting the sudden compulsion to bring her closer to notice her other hand moving. He felt it when it crept behind his neck, and then Asami was pulling him down while she rose. They met in a feather-light brush of lips.

Amon pulled her into a definite embrace. It seemed easier to kiss her without the paint molded over his skin. A command flashed like a camera bulb, _don't compound the problem, _and faded immediately into inscrutability. _Why is this a problem again_? He cupped Asami's cheek and tried again, curious if the scar's absence really made that much of a difference. It did.

The door closed behind them. Asami broke away and looked sideways at his shoulder. She tugged the guard there. "Do these come off?"

Twenty-five years of experience told Amon where this was going and that was Too Far, but she was already pulling at them and he didn't want the fabric to tear, so he reached up and undid the snaps that kept them in place. All of his armor seemed to offend her in fact, and he lost the rest of it the same way. No matter, it was just discovered she was barefoot when she dragged her toes down his calves to help pull away the greaves.

The seconds between them seemed to stretch into hours. The mask made it to the seat of an armchair, and was left there. Amon ran his hands over her shoulders, feeling their shape beneath the thin gown as they shared roaming kisses. Her pulse became an irresistible river rush in his mind.

She walked her fingers down his chest to pluck at the buttons there and Amon knew he needed to stop things here, figure out how this was going to fit into his plans for her. He did not just indulge in this kind of rashness, regardless of how determined she might be to make it happen.

He pulled back. Somehow the lamps had been turned off piecemeal and the resulting semi-darkness made him acutely aware of the flush on her face, her shining eyes. She breathed in unsteadily and the logic behind _stopping_ fell apart, scattering like the water in the basin.

The drops came together to form a bright new idea: if Asami Sato wanted Amon to remove his coat, who was he to argue? She made a happy sound when he kissed her again and helped lift it over his head.

When her dressing gown slipped off, some remaining reason tapped his shoulder—_Sato's daughter, less than half your age—_and Amon thought, _right. _But his eyes had become fastened on the form in front of him and resisting was like trying to shake off sleep. She pulled at his shirt next and he assured himself there was a utility to this—somewhere—_it could be a good thing_, _the right move_—_bring her closer, loyalty to me_—_the Equalists_—and by then she'd led him, or he'd led her, to her bed and rational thought became an impossible task somewhere past lifting a mountain.

He managed to mumble a question—_do you want this—_and his hair was pulled to pain at the roots as she answered only _yes_ and bit his ear again. The sensation briefly eclipsed all human thought.

All the same, he could sense Asami's playfulness clouding with hesitance. In a moment, it became his turn to clench his hands, leaning on his elbows as he forced himself to slow down and be patient. He noticed droplets standing in the corners of her eyes and was reminded of a time when he'd been—_around her age, actually_—and found that trivial waterbending tricks could delight partners. He was tempted to bend Asami's tears away now, show her that kind of care. From nowhere, he found himself whispering, _let me take care of you, _and she nodded, turning her face into his neck. The realization came to Amon that _that _wasn't a lie and a warm adoration spread with the thought that he would keep Asami safe, keep Asami, he would _keep. her. _

She grazed her fingertips over his cheek and her smile was a lake of lotus blossoms to him as her hand slid behind his neck once more. His world became a single beat underpinning the ebb and swell between them. _Asami, Asami. _He breathed her name into her hair and she responded with his. When she peaked with a quiet cry, he held on to her for as long as he could.

Once sense returned, Amon noticed that they were both coated with sweat and slickness, a mess. His memory drew up etiquette learned long ago, from an amber-eyed woman who'd found the Water Tribe youth appealing enough to take in hand. For a while, at least. _Come to think of it, she was about as old as you are now_.

He left the bed, and found his limbs were rubbery. He felt immature and exposed. Terrible clarity was fast approaching and this was _all_ a mess, this situation, whatever had just happened between them. How exactly had it happened that he'd seduced Sato's daughter? It didn't matter, he would just work with this, let her get attached and pliable. Amon dismissed the rest of his chagrin as he found a towel in the washroom. But Asami's amused smile when he offered it to her was far, far too appealing. "I thought you might be leaving."

He hadn't thought that far. Amon looked around, locating his clothes. They were draped across the floor, a work of art that could be titled _You Idiot_. "Do you want me to?" he asked.

Asami lifted the sheets to slip beneath them. "No." The word barely reached him. Amon hesitated, and then joined her.

She turned on her side, away from him, and the sensation of her skin sliding against his as he eased close to her—a quiet sigh lifted and fell along her side—raised something so long forgotten to him that it felt unreal. Amon felt as if he'd stepped out of the world for a while to try on another life.

He draped his arm over her and she tucked her chin down against it. _A life that could last. _A glassy peace closed over him, shutting out any concern or regret. This wasn't a mistake. It was only a change, a positive development that could be incorporated into the future. Asami knew him, and she wanted him.

For the first time in over a decade, Amon closed his eyes and fell asleep with someone in his arms.


	10. Chapter 10

Blue seeped around the curtains, tinting the room. Asami's nose was cold and she burrowed her face into the warmth of the bed. And his shoulder.

Her eyes blinked open. Memory came as an abrupt deluge that left her frozen. She'd practically thrown herself at him, and they'd—and now he was next to her, he was in her _bed_. She'd only spent a whole night a boy once before, and the morning had been a panic as she tried to get Mako back to his room on the other side of the mansion.

This felt nothing like that. It felt significant_, _as if she'd skipped ahead to some new, tentatively-imagined chapter of life. She'd asked Amon to stay all night and he had; and he wouldn't need to sneak away through the halls, or share breakfast with her later while pretending nothing had happened. _No one ever comes here._

Amon's eyes were closed and his breaths were slow and even. Asami shifted her head and lifted her hair away from her eyes so she could examine him outright. He looked even more handsome asleep than he had awake, all dark hair and dramatic eyebrows and sharp cheekbones. It was hard to think that this was _Amon_, that the reposed face next to her had been behind the mask every time they met, and if she hadn't seen him take it off she wouldn't have believed they were the same person. He seemed like he had to be someone else altogether, an actor who'd been hired to play the role of Amon.

He'd been gentle, even careful, with her last night, and she felt so _safe _beside him here and now. A glow of _nearness_ began to eclipse her discomfort. He'd even gotten sort of flustered when she kissed him, and it had been cute to see him trying to hide it. It felt like ages since anyone had reacted to her like that. And after—it had been nice. More than nice, it had been a reprieve, a flood of delicious mindlessness. With drowsy self-indulgence, Asami let her fingertips explore the shape of his arm where it lay by her side.

Amon's eyes opened at once and fixed on her, pale as the predawn light before he blinked once and smiled. Lines appeared in the corners of his eyes and around his mouth, and she remembered being disappointed by how old he was. But the little wrinkles seemed charming now.

She let her hand travel the expanse of his chest. The uninhabited early hour made consequences seem unreal. His arm circled her, and through a sultry, silent cooperation she slid over him. The contact was a lazy heat, less antic than last night. But it took a few seconds to find a rhythm and that was all reality needed to trample over her and point out exactly _what_ she was doing and _who _she was doing it with. She braced herself with hands on his chest, willing it away. It had been so awkward when she'd hesitated last night. This was fine, it felt wonderful, he was wonderful, she just had to keep going, abandon caution and embrace elation. Like taking a turn too fast on the track, when the road slid under her tires and the steering wheel twitched from her hands, when she'd rejoice in the thrill of disaster before racing ahead to victory.

She was curled over and finding her breath when Amon murmured something about taking precautions. Asami, suffused with tingling unconcern, breezed over the clinical thought and nodded before sinking back to sleep at his side.

* * *

When she woke the second time, the sun was trying to break through the curtains. He—_Amon_—was still there, watching her through half-lidded eyes. The sight spun Asami into a heady affection, a feeling she knew all too well as the prelude to rosy and senseless devotion, the promise of a new romance.

But to feel it for Amon was bizarre, unhealthy. Asami didn't trust herself to say anything aside from a whispered, "I should go wash." He stole a kiss as she clambered over him to escape the bed and Asami shuddered a little at how endearing it was. She snatched a dressing gown from the floor and bolted for the safety of the washroom.

Once the door closed she started shaking for real, in a tremor fed by the accumulation of _everything _over the past two days. She jerked the hot water tap open in the shower. Things had changed so much, so quickly. This time yesterday, she'd been ready to walk away from this place for good, to take a hostage if she had to. Today, she had _slept_ with _Amon_. And _that_ was a such a blunt fact that she was obliged to sit down on the white tiles. She let water sluice over her head, waiting for shame to engulf her so she could start trying to wash it away.

It didn't come. As strange and sticky as this was, Asami couldn't find shame in herself, or even regret about having done it. Amon seemed very different from what she'd known of him just a week before, and so did the Equalists. She couldn't imagine going back to her old life now and nodding along when people called them troublemakers and terrorists. She wouldn't be able to just agree sympathetically when benders whispered about how monstrous Amon was. He wasn't anything like Korra had described.

Maybe everyone really was getting the anti-bending movement wrong, or at least parts of it. Asami stood, holding her hands flat under the spray and letting the water careen off them in all directions. _The status quo will change_, he'd said. And he believed she could help change it for the better. She splashed her face. At some point she had to take an active role in her own life, didn't she? And—after yesterday, she could believe that it _was_ her father who had really pushed the movement toward violence, beyond Amon's plans. She had an opportunity to help the city and save Future Industries. _And Dad._

Asami took her time patting her hair dry and applying her makeup, still not quite ready to actually _face_ Amon again. Maybe he'd be gone when she came out. She'd learned the term 'one-night stand' from a lurid radio drama when she was younger, and it had seemed very adult, very sophisticated. Was that what this would be? The two of them spending one night together and then parting, with no messy, troublesome attachment between them. It would make the most sense. She could talk to him later about her decision. Asami shook out her towel, and folded it. She slid a barrette into her hair, took it out, and put it back in again. She wanted to give him plenty of time to leave.

The curtains were parted to let in some light when Asami finally did emerge. Amon was still there and she tried not to acknowledge the relief that filled her on seeing him. He was seated on the edge of the armchair, fully clothed and pulling on his boots. The odd pieces of his armor were piled on the floor beside his feet, and the mask was perched over one knee. Asami eyed it, toying with the sash on her gown. It looked more like a costume piece than ever before.

Amon seemed absorbed in his task and so she walked over to stand in front of him before declaring, "I want to join. My answer is yes."

He stopped and looked up with a half-smile. Black hair curled over his forehead. Asami averted her eyes and turned to the radio for a distraction. It was still embarrassing how easily she was falling for the sight of him. She'd never thought _love_ could be a problem, but then she'd always been interested in normal people like racecar drivers and pro-benders, not leaders of revolutionary movements. It wasn't like she could take him to dinner downtown or share long evening walks in the park. It couldn't _go_ anywhere. She switched the radio on, and the morning news report crackled through the room.

—_captured by Equalists. Avatar Korra has returned to Air Temple Island and is uninjuredddd—_a petulant buzz from the speakers was followed by a popping sound, and the speaker went dead. Asami toggled the switch a few more times, puzzled. "What?"

"Moisture could have gotten into the wiring," Amon said. He was still bent over, buckling the greaves in place. "It can happen in colder climates, and you do have it close to the window." He nodded toward it.

The explanation didn't quite make sense to Asami, but then again, she'd never studied electronics in depth. Maybe Amon felt bad about having given her a defective radio and was trying to cover for it. She smiled. "That's probably it."

He plucked the rest of his armor from the floor and stood. Asami thought about finding some clothes for herself, but decorum insisted that it would be too casual, too _strange_, to dress in front of him. Even though he seemed completely at ease with the whole situation. She twined her fingers behind her back and tried to match his nonchalance. "So, what happens now?" she said with a shrug. "Do I have to sign a contract or something?" _Are we dating now or something? _Did she even _want_ to go down that road?

Amon coughed a laugh as he affixed the shoulder guards. "No. The first strike is happening today, and if all goes well we'll be returning to the city. We can work out the details of your involvement later."

_Strike _was a military-sounding word, violent and direct enough to raise gloomy thoughts. Asami didn't think any of her doubt showed, but Amon stopped what he was doing anyway and came closer to caress her arm before taking her hand. "It will be over soon," he said, kissing the top of her head. Asami closed her eyes. His baritone was soft and certain and she wrapped herself in it. "It won't be easy, but I'll keep you from the worst of it, and you'll be strong enough to get through the rest. I'll send someone to bring you back to the city once it's safe."

She made a small sound of agreement. Joining meant _trusting_ him, after all.

He stepped back to regard her. Asami could practically see the unsaid words hanging between them, a tangled clothesline of questions that all started with _about last night_. "Your father will be accompanying me today," he finally said. "You should take time to pack up your things and prepare to leave."

"Of course." It was a relief to know she wouldn't have to face Dad today, but that wasn't what she wanted to hear about right now. This moment, his little show of affection, had left her wanting again and she couldn't leave things at _unsaid_, couldn't face another guessing game like the one Mako had reduced her to. _One-night stand_ suddenly seemed brassy and unsatisfying.

Asami decided to get it over with. She tried to crack a wry smile. "And the details of _our_ involvement?" She realized instantly that _involvement _was a very presumptuous word, way too specific for this moment. It had sounded better in her head.

He didn't seem to notice. "We should discuss that later too." Asami made a face as she tried to unravel that—was it subtle rejection?—and he took her chin and treated her to a long kiss. He straightened and tied the mask behind his head with practiced ease. He turned at the door. "I will talk to you this evening."

He was all _Amon_ again, deep-voiced, inscrutable and vague. Already Asami wished she could see his face again. She managed a nod. Amon inclined his head in response and left the room.

* * *

Nervous excitement kept her moving around. After she'd dressed, opting for another set of racing clothes again, it took less than half an hour to repack the rest of her belongings. She decided to keep the green bag, and the glove, with her. Who knew what a revolution would be like? She tried to imagine it, picking through half-remembered tutoring lessons on history. There was Ba Sing Se during the Hundred Year War, when Avatar Aang had stormed the Earth King's palace. Maybe the Equalists would do something like that?

A restless hour passed, and Asami found herself wandering out of the annex with the bag. People were hurrying around the airfield, crossing between buildings and vehicles. Wen was nowhere in sight, but she suspected that she had free reign to travel anywhere she pleased now. She was one of them, after all. _I am an Equalist. _

Thinking those four words was like an anchor cast in mud, dragging at her footsteps until she'd halted in the middle of the yard. Now that she was alone, the concept felt almost as queasy as ever. _Asami, Equalist. _She was going to help them do all the...things they did. And there was the fact that her old friends would be _right_ to see her as an enemy. They would be _her_ enemies.

Asami took a steadying breath and looked up at the empty sky, squinting against the sun, and then looked down toward the snow-lined pass that would lead toward the city. She felt for the solid shape of the electrified glove through the bag. Forget 'standing in rising water'_._ She'd waded straight into the deluge, committed herself to something huge and inevitable. She was allied with Amon and it was bigger than friendship, as big as the whole city.

She started walking again. And anyway, she reasoned, hopefully everyone would come to understand, like she had, that the Equalists weren't as bad as they'd seemed, and her father wouldn't be allowed to make things worse. It wouldn't be easy, like Amon said, but it would be over soon.

When fresh air and sunshine became boring, Asami made her way back to her father's office in the hangar, safe in the knowledge that it would be empty. There was something comforting and familiar about sitting against next to the glass wall and watching the activity on the floor below. The hangar was alive with men and women moving to and fro between the biplanes and mecha tanks, carrying clipboards or tools, checking tires, testing joints and rivets, ensuring every possible detail was attended to. It reminded her of a night before the debut of a new Future Industries line, the nervy important bustle of last-minute perfections and preparations. It had been a special treat to stay up late for them when she was young—one of the few times her mother would allow it—and even after she grew out of bedtimes the events gave her a sense of excitement. Her father would walk Asami down rows of brand new satomobiles, pointing out an aerodynamic improvement in the body, a change to the suspension—though she'd usually been a test driver for the prototype months before and knew about it all already—and reminisce about the first one he'd built, how different things were now, how hopeful he and his wife been about this new manufacturing process, the story that Asami had heard over and over…

The world became filmy. Asami wiped her eyes, pulled her legs to her chest and sat her chin on her knees. _Things will get better,_ she reminded herself. _Dad will be back with Future Industries soon._

There were banners with Amon's face—or his mask—hanging from beams near the ceiling. It was an ominous portrait, with threatening eyes over the smile. The same banners had been all over the underground factory at her house, though Asami had barely noticed them at the time. She'd been more focused on the sight of chi blockers packing up the unconscious policemen, the sight of Mako and Bolin trapped, with Tenzin and Korra limp over their shoulders. It had been so awful, like a nightmare. That was what Equalists had been to her back then.

_But that was Dad's doing_. Amon hadn't said it exactly, but she could read between the lines. Her father was the one taking things too far. Those giant portraits that radiated intimidation—they were just an act. Amon was right, no one would follow him if he seemed ordinary. Advertising had been a major department at Future Industries and Asami understood how important it was to put forth the right image.

Curiously, none of the biplanes seemed to be leaving the hangar. Asami hummed to herself as she watched a man whip a red cloth from his belt to buff a windscreen with fussy attention. Maybe that meant things were going better than expected—maybe the Equalists really could take the city without any real fighting.

She didn't want to admit to herself that she'd been hoping to see at least one take off. _Imagine what would it be like to fly something like that…_but that's what her father had been offering her yesterday in the jail. Right before he went off like bomb.

Asami stood abruptly and left the window for the desk nearby. She yanked open each drawer and gathered the remaining papers and folders within, dumping them in a pile onto the desktop before starting to thumb through them for ideas.

She was trying to decipher a page of ink-spotted notes and sketches when Maya threw the door open with a thump. Asami jumped. "Sato! I've been looking everywhere for you." Her hood was off and her face was alight with cheerful energy. "Ready to go?"

Asami's stomach did a flip-flop. "What? Already?"

She stood and tried to slide the mess of papers into an orderly stack, but they caught on each other and slipped from her hands, refusing to be tidied. She gave up and left the heap where it was. She crossed her arms, then unfolded them to look calmer, and finally compromised by leaving one arm at her side and clutching it with the other hand.

Maya poked the bag under Asami's arm as they left. "You got that boutique of yours all packed? Good."

They exited the hangar through the back door. The clear weather seemed stagy to Asami now, way too placid and scenic for the intensity of this day. Maya elbowed her. "So I hear you're one of us now."

"I guess—I mean, yes. I am." Asami tried to keep her pace measured. There should have been some thunderclouds, or at least a little wind and rain.

"Wen is over the moon." Maya rolled her eyes. "He thinks it's his little book that converted you."

Asami winced. "Uh." She wasn't sure she'd even packed it. It might still be in the bedside table along with all those pamphlets. "You've seen him? He hasn't been around."

"Yeah," Maya said. "He helped bust me out of jail this morning."

"You were in jail?" Asami asked. They rounded the corner of the hangar and she missed Maya's answer.

The sky was taken up by an airship hovering above the runways. It was a sharp ellipse, wider and flatter than the pill-shaped police airships, and drenched in dark gray and red. The Equality symbol was stamped inside a circle covering half the underbelly.

Asami had glimpsed their airships on the night of the arena attack, but seeing one up close, in broad daylight, it looked nearly unreal. It was like one of Future Industries' conceptual models come to life.

"Nice, right? That's our ride." Maya brushed past Asami, then turned around and beckoned her with a crooked smile. "C'mon, we're off to our fair city."

"I thought—we'd be taking a truck again." Asami's eyes were still glued to the massive airship. It was like the biplanes, malevolent and spellbinding at the same time. Walking into its shadow was like stepping into an eclipse.

"I hope you're not scared of heights," Maya said.

Asami craned her neck to look up at the boxy gondola. "Of course not." A dark square appeared—a hatch opening—and something came sailing down toward her.

Maya pulled her out of the way by the arm—"Watch it!"—as a cable dropped next to them. It bounced in a momentary recoil before being pulled taut by a spiked weight at the end. She reached past Asami to tug a catch in the line and the weight split open like an umbrella, with spindly arms that flatted into overlapping plates. She shook her head. "You really are helpless, Asami."

"I'm _not._" Asami snatched the cable and stepped onto the little platform. "I'm just not used to this type of airship." She waved at the distant figure watching from the hatch and turned back to Maya. "Shouldn't we get going?"

Inside the airship was dim and warm, with a pervasive hum of machinery. There were two other Equalists there, and their bright goggles stood out in the low light. Maya hopped from the platform onto the floor. "Let's go up front, it's a better view."

_Is Amon there?_ Asami bit back the reflexive question as she followed Maya up the corrugated metal stairs. No need to hand out any more material for rumors. Whatever came out about her and him—when it came out—she'd deal with it then. Or maybe they could just keep it all a secret.

The cockpit was spacious, with windows that wrapped all the way around it. It was built from the same utilitarian steel as the rest of the gondola but there were added touches of elegance, panels of swooping and curling filigree along the perimeter and support beams. Asami recognized her father's hand in the design. Similar embellishments could be found in every line of satomobiles. A telescope on solid wooden tripod sat to one side. The cockpit's sole occupant was an older woman, standing before the pilot wheel located front and center. She glanced over her shoulder when Asami and Maya entered and looked back without acknowledging them.

The airship was already passing into the mountain range, flying so close to the slopes that Asami could make out individual trees. There was a rail along the windows and she sat against it to watch the scenery glide by. Maya leaned on her forearms next to her. The road below was a dingy, winding line that made Asami feel an twinge of regret—she'd been so certain that she would leave the base in some illicit way, and it would have been fun to see how fast she could drive on such a tricky course.

As they came to the end of the range, the first thing Asami saw was Yue Bay, sunlight glancing off its restless surface as it spread to the Mo Ce Sea. And then Republic City came into view.

There was smoke everywhere, dusty black clouds that sprouted up from the streets and wafted out of the tops of buildings. More Equalist airships circled above the scene. Asami jerked upright in shock. "What _happened_?"

Maya was still leaning on the rail and she gave Asami a narrow look. "First strike. We had people set explosives in key targets all over the city. You didn't think we were going to ask them with flowers and cards did you?" She stretched unhurriedly before facing Asami and putting a hand on one hip. "You can't be _that_ sheltered."

"I'm not that—no." Asami's attention darted between Maya's sardonic look and the smoking buildings. She set her hand on the glass. She didn't know _what_ to say. The last time she'd been on an airship had been the night they found the factory under the workshop, when the police took her away while they searched the estate for more traps. She'd watched her home fade into the dark and felt as if it were sinking into depthless water. Seeing the city under attack like this...it caused the same ache of seeing something being lost forever. "Did they really have to do this much?"

"_Yes_, Asami." Maya's voice was prickly "We're making a point here. Getting their attention. Keeping the police busy. It's not pretty but neither is what benders do." She turned back and scowled at the cityscape.

Asami turned back to the window, and tried to face the city with the same pragmatism. This was what a revolution looked like. Her hands twisted back and forth around the strap of the bag. _It won't be easy_. _It won't be easy but it will be over soon. _She was strong enough to get through it.

Quiet fell again. They were coasting out of the mountains now, passing near the Sato estate. There weren't any smoke clouds _there_ at least, though Asami could see the lines of police cordons still around each building. _I'll be able to go back home._ _And Dad will have Future Industries back. _This wasn't the time to be having second thoughts, it was would be her job to help with all this.

"So…" Maya's voice disrupted her reflections. She'd gone back to leaning on the rail, with one hand draped thoughtfully over her mouth. A smile just barely showed through her long fingers.

"What?" Asami asked.

Maya's voice was full of restrained delight. "Amon, huh?"

Her first reaction was pure horror, nearly an out-of-body experience. Her hands shot to the rail and tightened convulsively around it. She stared at some gray smudges of clouds on the horizon. Maya was snickering quietly beside her. How could she know?

The dismay was followed by a swamp of mortification as Asami realized her reaction had probably just confirmed...something. But who _else_ knew? How much did they know? She tried to hedge with, "I don't know what—" but Maya broke down in peals of laughter. The pilot spun around to give them a severe look.

_I am never leaving this spot, _Asami decided._ I am taking the airship and flying away over the ocean and I am never coming back. _She turned to ask the pilot, "Where are we headed anyway?"

The older woman pursed her lips and turned away disdainfully. Maya took her wrist. "We should be getting close. Come on." She led Asami to the front of the cockpit—stopping halfway to shake with laughter again while Asami crossed her arms and huffed—and stopped beside the pilot. "There."

Asami looked in the direction she was pointing; past the coppery green statue of Avatar Aang and out to the middle of the bay at a jagged rock, paved over with white sandstone. From this height, the Air Nomads' orderly structures and gardens looked like miniatures in a museum display. Another airship was already tethered to the high tower, and black cables dangled from the undercarriage like the legs of a buzzard wasp.

Air Temple Island. Asami felt Maya's arm going around her shoulders. "Welcome home."


	11. Chapter 11

On the mountain base, once the sounds of human activity had faded the surrounding valley would be blanketed by a silence so complete that it seemed disconnected from the world, sheltered in a place apart. On Air Temple Island, Asami could never forget where she was. The hush of water rising and falling along its cliffs and shores and the constant cries of sea birds saw to that. Even the city did its part, sending out a muffled cacophony of car horns every now and then to remind her of its presence.

Clouds had rolled in throughout the afternoon and the final bolts of the sunset were fading into the same ominous gray as the rest of the sky. Asami took refuge from the first drops of rain under the gazebo that sat on the island's highest outcropping. The pavilion had been carved in the same serene aesthetic as the rest of the temple, smooth pale wood painted with patterns of blue and gold.

Asami vaguely remembered seeing Tenzin and his children meditating here. And now here _she_ was, just sitting on the railing that surrounded the structure and doing nothing. It was probably seven kinds of sacrilege.

Maya had no idea where Tenzin and his family were. _Ran away, I guess, _she shrugged. She deflected any more questions with _what am I, Shiro Shinobi? Ask Amon_.

Asami bounced her heel against a post. Maya had put a special emphasis on _Amon_, obviously hoping to get another rise out of her. But they'd been surveying her newest room at the time and it had barely registered. All of the Equalists—herself included—were to be quartered in the now-vacant men's dormitories, which turned out to be identical to the women's dorms.

Asami had clutched her bag at the threshold and stared at the nauseatingly familiar layout, feeling her betrayal of Tenzin's hospitality was complete. But she'd forced herself to go in anyway and dropped the bag on the bed to show she wasn't being delicate or picky.

She'd lasted for thirty seconds after Maya left. It was the tea set on the worn table that finally did it, the unwashed cup with a puddle of brown at the bottom. Asami had turned on her heel and fled.

She was soon informed, by hooded chi blockers who kept re-directing her from buildings with a _sorry, Ms. Sato_, that Amon was not on the island. And so she'd started to wander from one place to another, unable to go back to the room.

She still hadn't seen any of the island's original occupants; all the Acolytes and the White Lotus guards, Korra, Mako and Bolin, they had all vanished along with Tenzin's family. Asami imagined them captured by the Equalists, maybe locked up in the buildings that were now blocked off. No matter how many times she thought _this is a revolution_ to herself, it didn't help.

She pulled her collar higher and curled her hands into her pockets as a cool, damp night settled in. She couldn't quite believe that the Equalists would really imprison the airbenders though—at least, not Pema and the children—or that Amon would take _their _bending. They were harmless.

But when she'd left the mountains this morning, she'd thought it was to go home, back to the estate, or to another Equalist base in the city. Arriving _here _instead, a sacred place, the icon of peace in Republic City—it felt like she'd been tricked. Telling herself that the airbenders might be safe wasn't much comfort when she knew that dozens of people had been run out of their sanctuary, _their_ home, so that the Equalists could occupy it.

A whirr rumbled by overhead and Asami left her rail to follow the sound to the other side of the gazebo, looking out in time to see the airship glide around the temple's tower in a wide circle. It slowed, and a black line shot down, anchoring it to the paved courtyard. More cables dropped from the undercarriage to lower a dozen or so Equalists to the ground. She squinted at the group until she spotted a smooth, pale face in a dark hood. Amon had returned.

Asami hopped down the gazebo's steps and ignored the spotting rain as she jogged down the white gravel path. She was rounding the raised platform to the left of the tower when a man stepped out from behind it and placed himself in her path. "Where do you think you're going?" The Lieutenant. She didn't even have her glove this time.

"I'm going to see Amon," Asami said. "I need to talk to him." She took a deliberate step forward.

The Lieutenant held up a hand. "He's busy."

He was close enough to touch her and Asami decided she would break his wrist if he did. "I don't care." She peered around him. The group from the airship were still gathered in the tower courtyard, doing nothing in particular as far as she could tell. "What's going on?"

The Lieutenant stepped sideways, blocking the view again. "None of your business."

Asami mustered all her self-assurance and looked down her nose at him. "I don't know if you've heard, but I'm on your side now and I am going over there."

"Yeah, I heard_. _Did Amon tell you what position you hold or what your rank is?" Asami shook her head. "No? Then I outrank you, and I'm ordering you to go back to your quarters." He jerked a thumb behind him. When Asami didn't move he crossed his arms and barked, "Now!"

She didn't know which was worse, the way he was talking to her or the fact that the puffed-up little spider rat was right. She had no excuse to decline to obey the order. "Fine."

Asami swept past him, and then the courtyard, without looking at either.

A natural rock formation, covered with tree, separated the temple from the dormitories. When she reached it, Asanu risked a glance back. He was still watching. She snapped her head forward and turned to the right as if heading toward her room.

She kept going after the rocks had put him safely out of sight, trailing her fingers along the formation's jagged face. On the other side of it would be the tower, and the courtyard. It was too steep for her to climb directly, but a small terraced building on this side had a wall that abutted the rocks and she remembered seeing one of Tenzin's daughters climb into the gap between them to emerge on top of the formation.

The wedge was just large enough for Asami to squeeze through. She braced herself with one hand against the sandstone wall and the other against the rocks, and dug the toe of her boot into the corner where they met, then lifted herself up off the ground. She wriggled upward like that until the incline eased enough to let her climb the rest of the way unassisted. She stopped at the top to look down at the building's blue roof. The Lieutenant and his orders could go kiss a lizard crow.

The uneven terrain was hard to see in the twilight and Asami skidded on slick patches of moss several times before she started using the slender trees as handholds. The leaves dripped cold rainwater on her head and the wet bark rubbed off on her skin in specks of grime, but she made it to the other side in one piece, stopping where the formation joined with the tower's high base. She guided herself along the wall with both hands until she found the end.

The rocks dropped away sharply to the temple courtyard, giving her a good view of it through the scattered trees. The bright lamps that stood sentinel along the tower's steps illuminated the distant chi blockers, who were still standing in a cluster.

Asami crouched close to the wall and watched as Amon shouldered through the group and stopped at the center. A few heartbeats passed—he might have been speaking to them, but all Asami could hear was the relentless hiss of rain on stone and leaves. He circled around as the group parted, and she finally saw what they'd been gathered around. A woman, kneeling, with her shoulders slumped and her hands in her lap.

_A prisoner_, Asami realized. The woman looked up when Amon stopped behind her. Asami couldn't see much of her face, but her hair was short and dark, and to Asami that only meant _not Korra_._ Not Korra, not Mako or Bolin, not the airbenders. _She let out a relieved breath, and sucked it in again when Amon grabbed the woman by the back of the neck. Her heart began to pound.

It was just like the attack on the pro-bending arena, when he'd taken the bending of an entire team in a matter of seconds. Except then, the water pit had separated Asami from the platform where the Equalists were holding the Wolfbats captive, and she'd been buffeted by the chaotic noise of the audience and distracted by her father pulling on her arm.

This time she was alone. Alone to watch from a few meters away as Amon raised his arm and let it fall, in a smooth motion that ended with one thumb pinned to the woman's forehead. He held it there for a moment and then released her.

She sagged forward before listing to one side and falling over, limp. No one moved to catch her and Amon stood over her fallen form like a statue, his hands lightly clasped behind his back. The rain kept falling all around them. Finally, the Lieutenant and another chi blocker hooked a hand beneath her arms and lifted her to her feet. They led her stumbling away and the other Equalists began departing as well.

All except for Amon, who remained where he was. Asami watched the back of his head warily and jumped when the gray hood flicked to white, as he looked up toward her. The distance made the mask look especially vacant and she scrambled backward.

She headed back over the formation, moving as quickly as the treacherous rocks would allow, almost blind in the darkness. She slipped once, nearly falling before she could catch herself on a tree. She stopped there, and took a moment to pull herself together. Her fear was silly anyway, it didn't matter; she had a right to be there. And it wasn't like she didn't already know that Amon took people's bending.

Asami slid down the last few feet, jolting onto the ground. And he couldn't have _seen_ her, she'd been hidden way up in the shadows.

Amon was waiting by the terrace steps, just inside a circle of lamplight. _Perfect. _

Asami's hair was plastered to her head, getting in her eyes. She brushed it aside before remembering her hands were covered in bits of bark, and she wiped them on her legs only to discover that the wet dirt was all over her clothes as well. Amon, of course, barely looked damp.

She crossed her arms and went to him, willing herself to stop shivering, and left a formal space between them when she stopped. She doubted anyone was watching and worrying about gossip should be the least of her concerns, but she wasn't feeling too affectionate right now anyway. "Good evening," she offered.

"What are you doing out here?" He used a particularly timbrous voice of authority, as if it went without saying that she'd done something wrong and should be apologizing.

It made Asami determined to do no such thing. "Sightseeing."

"You were at the tower."

"I wanted to know what was going on."

"I removed a prisoner's bending. A metalbender who sabotaged two of our airships earlier today."

_Metalbender _meant she'd been a police officer, one of the elites; but Amon seemed completely untroubled about it.

Asami's simmering dissatisfaction broke into a boil. "Why did you have to do it right there, outside in the rain? With everyone all around her, just letting her drop?"

The questions that had been gathering around her began pouring out. "Why are we on Air Temple Island at all? How is this part of the plan when it's the most peaceful place in the whole city? All the Acolytes were non-benders! What did you do to them? Where's Korra, and where's Tenzin? What happened to the _city_?"

Amon glanced at the curved eaves above them. "The Air Nomads fled on their sky bison," he said. "I can't say where they might be. The Avatar left before we arrived, along with her pro-bending teammates, but most of the others left peacefully. Those who fought us have been detained."

He looked back at Asami. "You were aware there would be fighting and there will be more. The revolution is underway, the entire city is our battlefield. There's resistance from bender quarters and neighborhoods dominated by the Triads. The bombardments created a strategic advantage that allowed us to occupy the city's center. Until we have secured every quarter, Air Temple Island is the safest place to be. Regarding the...prisoner, we are in the middle of a war. We don't have the luxury of waiting for ideal conditions before dealing with our enemies. She will not be mistreated."

The answers came with a dispassionate clarity that made it seem like her objections had never been more than muddled ignorance. Asami's anger condensed into frustration. She thought of the woman slumping onto the stones, the group watching her avid and indifferent at once. His fluid explanations didn't justify _that. _"You couldn't have taken her inside, or done it without an audience?"

"She is a _bender_, Asami. The very people we are fighting against, the ones who have oppressed non-benders for thousands of years." The mask was a washed out shadow but his eyes were sharply visible, wide and staring. "Bending is their power. It's what they use to control non-benders and inflict violence on them. That 'audience' was made up of brothers and sisters who have all suffered at their hands. Why shouldn't they be allowed to witness the removal of that corruption which has caused them so much pain?"

When Amon said _bender _it was with a restrained intensity; nothing like the acid hate her father gave the word but it was still a glimmer of the fire that drove them all, that she didn't share. Water dripped from the tip of Asami's nose as she lowered her head.

Their genuine passion evoked a strange shame in her; the same way she'd felt around Maya, as if she kept living up to the image she'd always suspected people held of her as Hiroshi Sato's Little Girl, pampered and clueless and soft. In a way, it _was_ easy for her to forget that there were actual people beneath the chi blockers' hoods, ones who believed in every word Amon said and didn't have doubts like she did.

"I just wanted to help keep things peaceful," she said in a smaller voice. "And I had friends here, and Tenzin and Pema were always so nice, and let me stay here after Dad—" It occurred to her that Amon would know all of that already.

His shoulders rose and fell in a faint shrug. "There must be fighting before there can be peace. It could be worse. There are people, like your father, who would rather take benders' lives along with their power. And even on Air Temple Island the benders were placed above non-benders. You do not have to turn against your former hosts, but for all their quaint Air Nomad philosophy, Asami, it was no more equal here than it was anywhere else in the world."

_But the airbenders _are_ more important, everyone knows that_. Arguing with Amon was like walking into a maze, meeting one dead end after another until she'd forgotten the point she'd been trying to make in the first place. "The Avatar and her pro-bending team may have been friends to you," she heard his low voice continue, "but the earthbender collapsed our underground base and the firebender threatened to burn one of my people alive. In the end, they are no better than any other bender."

"They are_ not_—" Asami didn't know how to finish the denial. She thought of the way Mako had vibrated with anger after learning that Bolin had gone with her to see her father. It wasn't so hard to believe he'd let it loose on the Equalists. It didn't make him _bad _to her, or all benders bad. But she'd agreed to help the Equalists anyway, because _they _weren't wrong...

The raindrops over her head eased, and Asami looked up. Amon had closed the gap between them. He lifted a hand to her shoulder. "You've lost someone to firebenders as well. Your family was broken apart by their violence."

"It's not like that." There was an unfortunate quaver in her denial. The last few days had been bringing that loss to her mind again and again, and a bitter voice told her _it isn't_ _fair,_ she kept thinking how much better everything would be if Mom had just—how could Amon know that in the deepest recesses of her mind Asami sometimes wondered if _she_ wasn't the one who was wrong, if her father didn't have a right to be as angry as he was?

But he was using her mother as an excuse for violence and destruction. "No." Asami twisted the thoughts tight and forced them down again. "I miss my mom but I _won't_ be like Dad. I can't just hate all benders just because of what happened."

"You aren't expected to, but you need to understand the danger that bending represents, the potential tragedies. No family is safe from what happened to yours. But they will be, once we prevail."

He made it sound so reasonable, so simple. Asami looked away, pressing her lips together as the unhappiness grew. _No family is safe. _Dad had hired her first self-defense instructor a few months after her mother's death, not even trying to hide the connection. _You must be able to fight back, sweetie, fight back and win._ Those were the years when he would get upset if she was out of his sight for more than a few hours, when she would lay awake during the night to watch her windows in case the hazily-imagined _intruders _described to her by the grownups returned. She could still remember the moonlight on her floor, the fleeting shadow of a bird passing by.

Asami shook her head. She couldn't ever be the same as her father, no matter _what_.

Amon lifted a soaked lock of hair from her shoulder with two fingers. "You should go inside. The weather will only get worse tonight."

"I don't want to." The damp had soaked through her clothes and she was wracked with tremors, but the discomfort was better than returning to that room.

Amon made a questioning sound and she added, "I mean—I can't stay in the dormitories, not when I know someone else was living there a few hours ago. It's not right—it's not mine."

"Our presence here _is_ temporary," he said. He dropped her hair and withdrew his hand; somewhat to her disappointment because it had been warm, _he _was warm, and despite the distancing mask Asami felt how easily her resolution to stay apart from Amon in public could be discarded. Just a single step forward, forget Maya, forget rumors. "I promise we will treat the temple with respect and repair any damage that has been done. They will be able to return to their home soon."

"I know," she said. "And I know it's safer here, but I just can't…" She trailed off. "Can't I go back home? Back to the estate?"

"It's too far away and too large to keep secure. You have to stay here with everyone else." Asami glared at the ground as he spoke. The edict was final and she could tell there would be no getting around it. She lifted her eyes to stare at the growing patches of dark gray on Amon's coat, drawing out the moment before she'd be herded back to the room to spend the night alone with a dirty teacup.

"We do still have matters to discuss regarding your role within the organization," Amon said after a minute. "I am staying in a sentry outpost on the other side of the island. Alone. You may, if you prefer—" He paused, the closest she'd ever heard to actual hesitation from him. "You are welcome to join me there to talk."

With the way Amon had been acting, the possibility hadn't even occurred to her. But he had said they would talk about her _involvement _this evening, hadn't he? "Yes. I'd like that."

"Follow me." He turned away and Asami followed without hesitation. The dormitory room, the prisoner, the clouds of smoke blooming over the city, _everything_ loosened and uncoiled in her mind, trailing further and further behind her as she lengthened her stride to keep up with him.

They passed the courtyard in front of the tower. It was empty, though the lamps brought out a splash of color on the near-invisible airship looming above. Their halos also caught the rain as it streaked down and splashed on the stones. Asami stepped in a puddle by accident. "I met the Lieutenant when I tried to go to the—thing with the metalbender. He wouldn't let me—he said he outranked me."

"In the long term, your position will be as your father's is—you won't have a rank like others do." Amon didn't even glance at the spot where he'd taken the woman's bending. "However, officially you have only joined our movement as of this morning. For appearances' sake, your access to information and activities in the next week will remain limited. The Lieutenant was using his best judgment."

"But what am I going to do, then?" The path was leading uphill. Water seeped through the seams of her boots, making them squish slightly with each step. Asami hunched over, holding herself tighter against the pervasive chill. A voice in the back of her mind urged her to take Amon's arm instead. She batted it away.

"There will be attacks from outside forces as well as within the city. The next few days will see more fighting—possibly even the next few weeks." To her relief, they were nearing a single story building with a covered porch. "But order must be maintained. It's crucial that our victory is recognized within the city and by the world at large."

He led Asami onto the porch and slid the door open to usher her into a common room with plain furnishings. The floor gave off a blissful heat, fed by a stone hearth set low in the wall on her right. To the left, a set of sliding doors opened onto a darkened room where Asami spied the silhouettes of low beds. The simple style was similar to the acolytes' quarters, but the outpost was overall different enough for her.

She began unlacing her boots as Amon carefully closed and secured the door behind them. The return of warmth and dryness was intoxicating, and she almost missed what he said next. "I want you to start by giving a short speech tomorrow, at a rally in Republic City Park for our supporters." Her head shot up and he indicated the room with the beds. "That way is the washroom. You should find towels in there."

"A speech? I—I don't think I'm ready for that." Asami straightened. "And I thought I was going to be helping with infrastructure." She thought back to her father's papers at the hangar. "I haven't really studied it much, but I saw Dad had some ideas about using Satomobile fuel for larger-scale generators if there's not going to be lightningbenders working at the factory." She was babbling a little. She'd been mentally leaving blanks where benders would be in any given operation, maybe they could leave the city if they wanted, or maybe they just wouldn't be allowed to bend on the job, she wasn't really sure how it was supposed to work—but either way, the machines were much more her concern than giving _speeches_, and she needed to make Amon see that.

"There won't be. But it's too early to begin carrying out that work. Right now, it's important to reduce conflict as much as possible and ensure that non-benders understand the revolution is in their best interest."

"But why me? If it's for supporters—nobody even trusts me yet. You just said I'm too new."

"All the better that you become visible to them now, as soon as possible." He brushed drips of water from her cheek. "You can be very captivating, Asami. They will love you."

Asami pushed his hand down. "That's another thing—people know about…us."

"I'm aware of it. Don't let it concern you. You should go dry off, and then we can talk more." He ended the conversation by walking away.

She brooded over his suggestion as she peeled off her clothes and washed the dirt from her hands. Giving a speech was the last thing she wanted to do, but he had a point...whatever real work she wanted to do would be pointless if the city turned into chaos. But to stand in front of people like that, selling Equalism when her own beliefs felt so unformed...what would she even say?

The problem preoccupied her, and it was only after she'd finishing drying off that Asami realized she didn't have anything else to wear. She squeezed the water from her hair with the thin towel, eying the wet cement lump of her jacket and trousers with distaste. But waltzing out in her underthings wasn't an option either.

She spoke around the door. "Amon..."

He was ready for her. "Wear these." A folded stack appeared in the narrow gap. "Give me your clothes, I'll lay them out to dry." She passed him the pile as instructed and accepted the stack with a cringe. This sort of domesticity with him still made her uncomfortable. It almost felt more intimate than anything they'd done the night before.

He'd given her an unstylish white shirt and trousers and a voice at the back of her mind told her that they looked like the sort of thing a White Lotus guard might wear under their blue robes. But Asami was too grateful to have something to wear to think about it closely. She dressed, tugging the cloth where it was too tight. Her wrists stuck out of the sleeves.

Amon had his back to her when she came out. He'd stretched her clothes over a drying rack by the hearth and his gray coat lay folded over a chair. The mask sat next to some teacups on a cabinet. Asami watched him arrange a kettle atop a grate, entranced by the casual motions. That was the upside to this familiarity, being privileged to see Amon acting so ordinary.

There was a table near the center of the room. Most of its surface was covered by a map of Republic City and Asami leaned over the back of a chair to look at it. Small sacks of sand held down the corners and various locations were circled with red ink with notes in Amon's indecipherable code. Lighter lines fanned from the mountains, arcing over the city and bay. A satchel lay next to the map with papers spilling from its open mouth.

Asami ran her fingertip over the mountains and into the city. "I can't give a speech at the rally tomorrow," she said. "I don't have time to prepare anything and I don't—" She looked up as Amon joined her and tripped over the rest of her excuse. Red, raw-looking streaks scored his face from forehead to chin.

Amon caught her stare and touched the dramatic scar lightly. "Normally I remove it at night, but it's wiser to leave it on for the time being."

"Of course." It distorted his nose and upper lip and ran over his eyebrows, rendering his expression into a flat glare that looked somewhere between anger and contempt.

It reminded her that his official past was a complete lie, that she knew almost nothing about him at all. If the mask was too distant, the scar made him a stranger. Asami turned her attention back to the map, following the grid of streets. "Anyway, I don't know what to say."

"If you wish," Amon said with a studied neutrality. "I can ask Hiroshi to speak instead."

Asami thought of her father's likely reaction when he heard she'd refused the task, and her jaw tightened. She drew her finger down Kuei Avenue and onto the Silk Road Bridge. "But you must be introduced to the public and make your voice heard soon," Amon continued. "Perhaps something simpler—a radio address, or newspaper editorial."

Asami kept moving along the streets. "It's not really what you said I was supposed to do for the Equalists." _Off the bridge and up toward the Northern Water Tribe district._ Bolin had told her about a noodle restaurant there, some place he and Mako used to go to after matches. She wondered where they were now.

She could feel Amon's eyes on her. "Then we'll leave the matter for now." He turned away abruptly. "I can risk removing the paint for one night."

When he returned with unblemished skin, he was holding two steaming blue ceramic cups. After setting one before Asami, he rifled through a pocket on the side of the satchel and withdrew a packet made of thick, folded paper. He offered it to her. "This is for you."

It was an apothecary's envelope, a little larger than her palm. The loose contents made a _shuff_ sound as she took it from him. "It's a preventative—" he began.

"I know." It was quite the change in topic. The sound and shape took her back several years, to the first time she'd been handed such a thing, after a red-faced conversation with her first boyfriend's mother. She'd been an engineer at Future Industries, and had taken Asami aside one afternoon to calmly but firmly ask about what had been going on down at the racing track. Asami had been suffocated with mortification and terror, but it had turned to overwhelming gratitude when Oma only offered kind advice and a little white packet like the one now in her hand.

She pinned it by opposite corners between her index fingers, letting it pivot around an invisible axis. The dried herbs _shuffed _back and forth. She raised her eyebrows. "I guess this means we should talk about last night?"

"I think so." Amon offered her a slight smile that made Asami pause in spinning the packet. She'd never seen him in just the plain black shirt before, without his signature coat, but it fit him well and when he looked at her like that...it was as intriguing as the tea-making had been; which, as she tasted it, Asami realized was made from the same bitter herbs he'd just given her.

She should have found it embarrassing, but it was sort of touching…in the middle of a revolution, in between taking prisoners and fighting and finding ways to keep the city together Amon had taken time to think of this—important in its own way, but still so mundane compared to everything else. Asami set her cup back on the table, atop the large square on the map labeled 'Sato Estate'. In the midst of everything going on, Amon had thought of their night together, of her. Of _them._

_Scar or no, you barely know him. _The rain sizzled outside the windows and rattled the roof tiles overhead. Asami watched hazy scenes coiling in the acrid steam from the tea, of her and Amon together, sharing more evenings like this. It didn't have to be restaurants and flowers and carriage rides, it could just be meals eaten over maps and blueprints. One day she might steal an hour to drag him to the racing track. It could all mean something, be serious,_ last_ and in an instant Asami knew she wanted that, wanted it with a bare longing. Maybe she didn't know everything about him right now, but she wanted to learn.

She suddenly felt conscious of her borrowed clothes and of her hair drying in unruly waves. He hadn't said anything else and she wondered if she was reading too much into it. Maybe Amon was just trying to be practical and she was getting carried away. He'd dismantled her complaints so easily. What if he did it again, made her look like a fool? How good was she at judging how anyone felt about her, anyway?_ Look at Mako, look at Dad._

Asami had meant to approach this like an adult, but the sudden, shining importance of the answers reduced her questions to whispered scraps—_so it should just be a one-night—or, well what do you—_and his answering chuckle raked her with humiliation until he came around the corner of the table and murmured _I want to keep you Asami. _His hand traced her side, sending a much clearer message. She leaned away as a gauzy affection began clouding her mind again._ Like this?_

_I want to keep you by my side. _His muted clarification was divided by a lingering kiss. _There won't be much time for us now, but soon—_and Asami stopped listening because that was good enough for now. The thought of keeping her distance from him burnt away. At end of this road was unthinking relief, and she softened, then yielded to it entirely, returning his attentions as more whispers rolled over her. Until she heard _perhaps after you give the speech tomorrow, _murmured somewhere against her neck.

She balked, the dreaminess dispelling. What was he thinking? "No, I still don't…"

Amon withdrew and, before she could react, turned her with easy grace until her back was flush against his chest. The unexpected move was novel to her and a shivery reminder of the time he'd caught her at the mecha tank. But his swiftness then had been accompanied by indifferent authority, and she liked his roguishness now a lot more.

He ran a decisive hand down her torso and she lost track of disquieting talk of speeches in a fierce spike of desire. _Amon._ An incoherent minute or two followed, before he caught her ear. "Then what about the radio address or the editorial?" There was a smile in his voice and this time Asami couldn't help but laugh at the audacious timing and gasp _yes, alright_. And soon enough, he was lifting her onto the table as she urged him on. When Amon muttered something being mindful of the map she took it as a challenge, and made him forget about it entirely.

Later, they shared a single narrow bed to sleep in. Asami was used to sleeping alone in spacious beds, but she relished the cramped arrangement now. When the rain stopped and she could again hear the sea saying _Air Temple Island,_ she moved closer to Amon and listened to his breathing instead.


	12. Chapter 12

Asami woke to a lift of the mattress. When she succeeded in prying her eyelids apart she found Amon was already standing and she began to follow suit.

Amon sat on the bed. "There's no need," he said in a voice resinous from sleep. He smoothed a few strands of hair from her face and tucked them behind her ear. "I'm just going into the city." She perked up and he added, "You'll stay on the island today. It's safer." He stroked her face and pushed himself up again.

Asami lifted herself onto her elbows, casting about for reasonable counterargument. Amon was only half-dressed as he moved around and his hair was mussed. The view derailed her groggy efforts. So far he seemed especially likable in the morning, and she wished she could just ask him to stay here with her.

"What about the rally?" She wasn't interested in it at all, but she needed some excuse to leave aside from _I don't want to be alone_.

Amon paused in the doorway to the washroom. "Your presence won't be necessary," he said. "You should use the day to work on the radio address. I want to broadcast it as soon as possible." With that, he left.

Asami pulled the pillow over her head as the sounds of running water started. She'd agreed to do it, she remembered that much. But he'd offered her a couple of options, when did they decide on something for the radio? And had there been a hint of admonishment in telling her she was unnecessary?

She gathered the blankets, and their lingering trace of body heat, around her. Suspecting Amon of playing games made her feel sour, and she had more than enough worries already. He just wanted what was best for the revolution, and for her. And it was a good idea. She'd joined the Equalists, she was part of this, and if she could do something to help the city at this stage then she should.

Asami closed her eyes. _But I don't need to be on the island to write._

* * *

The late morning found her surveying five speedboats as they rocked alongside the dock where the temple's ferry was usually moored. They looked like pleasure craft, with nothing on their teak hulls to identify them as belonging to the Equalists. Asami picked one at random and checked the fuel gauge, then unwound the rope tying it to the dock. The engine started smoothly and the steering wheel was responsive.

She'd meant to motor discreetly across the bay but abandoned that plan in favor of throwing open the throttle. She zigzagged over the water a few times, tilting into each turn with a burst of spray, and arrived at the ferry terminal flushed with windburn. She borrowed an electrified glove from a shelf in the boat's stern before climbing the ladder to the top of the pier.

As soon as she saw the port, the precaution seemed like overkill. It was nearly empty, no chains of dockworkers loading or unloading the cargo ships, no passengers boarding the ferries that traveled up and down the coast. The fishing boats that should be scattered across the sea were bobbing in their slips.

The uncanny stillness of it all made Asami uncomfortable. She found her moped in the storage shed and stored the glove beneath its seat. A pair of gulls wheeled overhead as she walked it down a row of vacant stalls in the fish market.

The city was the same way, with mecha tanks rolling up and down thoroughfares that should be packed with Satomobiles and people. Asami lowered her goggles and waited for a gap in the patrol before zipping across the avenue to duck into a narrow side street. Storefronts gave way to shabby buildings and rubbish-filled alleyways as she went deeper into the city's network of neighborhoods. She found more signs of life there, under the shadows of brick walls; people walking with heads low and hands jammed in their in pockets or standing in tight groups, whispering and glancing around.

On one street, a woman in a faded coat jumped at the sound of the moped and dropped the canvas bag she'd been clutching. Asami slowed to help, but the woman grabbed her scattered groceries and rushed into a doorway before she could get to the curb. She steered back to the middle of the street and drove on slowly. _This is what a revolution looks like_. Her promise to Amon closed around her like a fist. How could she make up a speech under these conditions? What was she supposed say about the Equalists that would be any help or comfort to those people?

Asami pulled over when she reached the corner. She ran her fingers along the ridges of the handlebars, getting her bearings and thinking about where to go next and a dispiriting idea struck her. There _was_ a place she could go to hear what the Equalists were saying to the public and get ideas for what she was going to write for Amon. She was only a few blocks from the west end of Republic City Park. And besides, she'd have to see her father again at some point, it might as well be today. _In public and with lots of people around._

The rally was hard to miss. A sizable crowd filled the grassy amphitheater at the park's center, with every face turned to the dais where Hiroshi stood before a microphone. He wore the same brown jacket that she'd last seen him in. A massive banner of Amon's mask leered out at the audience from behind him.

Asami joined at the back of the crowd, leaving her hair tucked inside her dark jacket. She'd chosen her outfit, an unassuming gray blazer and skirt, for blending in with the city and other people. She shouldn't_ need_ to hide, Amon was nowhere to be seen and she was merely an Equalist among fellow Equalists, but the drab clothes made her feel better anyway.

The people standing next to her cheered at something Hiroshi said and Asami clapped her hands along with them, keeping an eye on the chi blockers stationed along the edges of the crowd. Were those two edging closer to her? _Stop being paranoid_._ You have every right to be here. _She pulled her collar higher and focused on the speech.

"…declared bending illegal and he has the Avatar on the run." Asami recognized her father's boom from pep talks at the factory, when he'd stir up enthusiasm for a new project. Heads were nodding all around her and a man on her left murmured approval at the news about the Avatar. "Our great leader has a vision for the future. One day soon, bending will no longer exist—"

Asami frowned. That had to be his own exaggeration, because the idea that bending would just _stop_ _existing_ seemed impossible. She tuned back in to the speech as her father thundered, "But we will prevail!" Spirited applause and whistles erupted from the audience, and a few matched his gesture when he threw a fist in the air.

Asami backed away as their applauding stretched on, slinking into the thicket of white birches that ringed the amphitheater. She sagged against a trunk and turned her collar down, then crossed her arms. Hiroshi would be in a good mood, but if she went to see him now, he'd want to know what she thought of his speech. _You sounded like an extremist, Dad._ Asami closed her eyes. She'd fight back though, she wouldn't just let him yell at her again.

The memory of his rage made acid rise through her and she put it away again.

The idea that Amon had really made bending _illegal_ made her think of the city's insane curfew for non-benders. It was just more anti-bender shouting, and not anything she'd ever say herself. Why had she agreed to write anything at all, just because Amon had…

Footsteps crunched behind her and Asami dropped the thought. The chi blockers she'd noticed earlier had followed her into the grove, where their drab uniforms blended like shadows into the red and gold leaves around them. Asami stood away from her tree and watched them approach.

As they neared Asami, one of them said her name. Her companion shushed her, but it was too late.

"Korra?" Asami asked. Korra slid off her hood and stared back. The other chi blocker sighed and pulled his mask up as well. "Mako."

Mako had shadows beneath his eyes and Korra looked drawn taut all over. Asami looked between them, more confused than threatened. She almost added, _what are you doing here?, _but they were side-by-side in Equalist uniforms and the answer was kind of obvious. She wondered how they'd come by them.

"How are you?" _Not any better, Asami, they just lost Air Temple Island._ She didn't like to think about that at all. "Korra—I heard about Tarrlok on the radio."

"Yeah." Korra cast her eyes down and crossed her arms. "Amon got him."

"So you're okay?"

"Yeah." Korra shook her head and looked up with an intense stare. Her hair looked limp and unwashed in its ponytails. "Asami, we thought you'd been captured! The police said you'd joined the Equalists, and so did Tarrlok." Her face clouded at the name. "But Bolin said, with the way you just disappeared after you left with Saikhan, that they might've kidnapped you or something."

It felt like Tenzin's office all over again, right down to Korra being generous enough to let Asami fill in the blanks and defend herself. At least Bolin wasn't there. "The police are right," Asami said. "I only went along with them to help Dad at first, but now—" She put her hands on her hips. "I'm one of them. I joined the Equalists."

Relief, and then dread, flashed through her. It felt as if she'd passed some point of no return.

"_What_?"

"_Asami!_"

Their exclamations overran each other. Korra dropped her arms as she boggled at Asami and Mako balled his fists, glaring. Asami's fingernails dug into the fabric at her hips as the situation wound tighter. The confrontation felt out of place, it was too soon, she hadn't had time to prepare for it and all her notions about the Equalists were scattering from her brain like a flock of rooster pigeons. Even worse, if it spiraled into violence she didn't know if she could fight them both.

Mako lunged forward and Asami nearly struck the first blow herself. But he only flung an arm out toward the city. "How could you join them? Do you have any idea what they're doing out there? They bombed the city and kidnapped the Council. And they attacked Air Temple Island, and _we_"—he jerked a thumb at his chest—"have to hide and you're _helping _them?"

Mako's other hand was still low and clenched and Asami thought of Amon's warning from last night. He was in a position to deliver a punch or a sweeping kick and either one might come with an arc of fire.

The news about the kidnappings troubled her, but that feeling was trampled by her determination to not back down to Mako. "I _know_ what they're doing." Asami mimicked his gesture at the city around them. "This is a revolution. The Equalists are making a stand for non-benders because they didn't have any other choice. Don't _you_ know about the Council setting curfews on us, or how the Triads are completely out of control?"

"So you think the best thing is to get rid of all bending?" Korra's swelling voice had a hint of a volcanic potential to it, enough to alarm Asami. Korra had always seemed so subdued to her. While she could probably hold her own against Mako, facing an angry Avatar would be another matter.

Mako put a hand on Korra's arm and cocked his head toward the amphitheater. Korra followed the motion and lowered her voice. Her temper still snapped in her every gesture. "That's what Amon wants to do. You saw what he did to the Wolfbats. We had to fight more of Hiroshi's mecha tanks yesterday to save Tenzin, and they still got away with more metalbenders, and Chief Saikhan."

Korra's glare was like a typhoon brewing on the open ocean. "How could you think all that's okay?"

Asami saw the officer falling sideways in the rain and chill touched the back of her neck. "Amon doesn't want things to be violent. He doesn't want to hurt anyone. But if the police are fighting the Equalists then—"

She tried to recall Amon's crisp explanation yesterday. It all sounded so right when he said it and she wished he were here to help her now. Except she didn't, because Korra was here and that would mean..."Then the Equalists will fight back, even if it means taking bending. They're protecting people and making sure non-benders don't have to be afraid of benders."

She tried to mean what she said, but it sounded cheap compared to words like _kidnapping _and _bombed the city_. Mako was scoffing before she'd even finished. He shook his head. "Unbelievable. It just took a few days for you to swallow all of Amon's garbage. Or maybe you were working for him all along." He stepped back from his aggressive posture and eyed her. "I'm starting to think it's true what they're saying about you and him."

Asami's intake of breath was quiet—quieter than the clamor in her head that said _you might as well have put it on the front page_—but Mako's eyes widened. "Wait, it's true?" His disdain curdled into horrified revulsion. "You actually...even I thought it had to be a lie."

Her face grew hot as she searched for some defense or denial; she wanted to wipe that look off Mako's face. It was like being with Amon was worse than joining the Equalists to him.

Her embarrassment began to turn acrid. Why did she always have to put up with Mako's judgment? Why did she have feel like there was some scandal that she had to hide ? She and Amon were both adults who could do what they want. "It's none of your business, Mako. We broke up, remember?"

"Yeah, but..._Amon_, why would you even—" Korra pulled at her side tails and grimaced. Asami caught the meaningful glance that passed between the two of them. _Did you know Korra likes Mako?_ It was like reading an old newspaper. _Have him,_ she felt like saying.

At least Korra's anger had been derailed by the shock. Asami shifted her weight to one side. "I don't want to fight either of you. I think Amon can be talked out of trying to get rid of all bending, and fighting the Avatar." She forced herself to meet each of their hard stares in turn. "But the revolution is a good thing." The simplicity of that solid statement made her feel better. "And the Equalists are right."

"Then I guess there's nothing more to say here." Mako yanked the hood back over his head. "Go back to your buddies and report on us."

It was infuriating the way he claimed the high ground like that, just _grabbed_ it, after she'd spent every _moment _of the past week agonizing about the right thing to do. "I—you know what, forget it," Asami said. "Go away. I don't care what you do."

She stormed around them both, kicking up dead leaves as she passed. She would've thought Mako would get why she needed to take care of her father, and Korra...she should at least understand wanting to help people. But they were acting like she was some kind of sordid criminal because they couldn't get past their stupid bending, not even for a second, to just _think_ about what Amon was saying or why this was happening. Even though she'd _just _told them she didn't want to fight or have their bending taken away.

"Tell your boyfriend I'm coming for him." Korra sounded like she was slinging insults before a pro-bending match. Asami curled her hands into fists and pretended not to hear. _Amon was right, benders don't understand. They don't want to. _

She came out of the clearing near the rounded stage. She refused to look back to see if her former friends were still behind her.

Workers in plain clothes were packing up audio equipment and her father was talking to a woman she didn't recognize. Asami hovered some distance away, fluttering with qualms that grew stronger with each passing moment. She couldn't face another skirmish right now, couldn't listen to her father calling her a 'bending-loving traitor' again. Not just after Mako and Korra had yelled at her for being an Equalist.

But Hiroshi saw her and broke off his conversation. "Asami?"

She uncurled her hands at her sides as he came over to her. His face mirrored her uncertainty and his eyes were wide behind the spectacles. "You came to my speech?" he asked.

"I did."

"Amon told me you'd joined us. Joined the revolution. Is that true?"

"Yes."

"That's wonderful to hear." Asami flinched when her father darted forward to seize her hands, enfolding them in his. "Sweetie, I am so sorry for everything I said to you before. Forgive me, I wasn't thinking."

He lifted her hands over his heart, looking at her with real sorrow. It reminded ASsami of his apology when she found out about the Equalists. It had been sincere and heartfelt too. _If you're so sorry, why did you do it at all?_

"Okay, Dad," she said.

He released her hands to pull her into a hug. Asami stumbled into it, willing her arms to return the gesture and failing. She stared over his shoulder at the weak snow patches of snow spotting the yellowed grass. She felt nothing, aside from relief that he wasn't asking her about the speech, or about benders, or Equalism.

Hiroshi stepped back, stroking one side of his mustache and regarding her with pride. "And Amon told me about his plans, Asami. I can't wait to work with you. I know you're capable of such great things."

Asami felt as thin as a cloud. She didn't know what she'd been expecting from this. His praise that used to mean so much, his enthusiasm, even his affection, it all fell straight through her. She tried to care anyway. "So you do want to run Future Industries again?"

His eyes wrinkled at the corners. "I never stopped running it, Asami. But it'll be a relief to have some work off my plate so I can get the company back into tip-top shape." He moved to stand by her side and squeezed her shoulders. She caught the familiar scent of his aftershave as he stretched his arm toward the white peaks behind the city and fanned his fingers. "The mansion will be ready for us next week and the factories will start production again soon. Everything will be back to normal now that you're here."

"Uh-huh." _Normal _was everything she had wanted. Amon had promised her the same if she joined, or maybe she'd just promised it to herself. Either way, it was dangling before her now, a ribbon that she could follow back to happiness, to her home and family, to everything back to the way it was. Or as close as it would get. "That's good."

"I told you Amon would help us build a perfect world." Hiroshi let her go, cheeks rounding as he beamed. "You're going to do such great things," he repeated. "Now that you've come around."

_He didn't apologize until after you said you'd joined. _It came to her whole, a single chiming note. _He'll hate you the moment you leave the Equalists. _

The thought became a pit that swallowed the mansion and the company and _normal_ and Asami pulled away from her father as it began eating into her childhood as well. _He loves the Equalists more than you. He always will. _

Her father took her hand again, his eyes sparkling now. "And I've heard that you've been getting close to Amon as well, and Asami I just have to say—"

She had to get away. "I have to go."

"Are you sure?" His eyebrows drew together with disappointment. "You heard the speech, but you should know the full plan for the United Forces' fleet." He smacked his fist into his palm. "I want you involved and helping as soon as possible."

How long ago had she lost him? Asami struggled to keep something like a smile on her face as anger started buzzing inside her, wanting to be let out. "Sorry," she said. "I love you, Dad. I'll see you later." She turned and strode away before he could say anything more.

She waited until she far from the amphitheater to swipe at her eyes. Her father was calmer, at least, and maybe Amon was right that he would get better once he got back to Future Industries. But reaching that goal no longer felt like a victory. They were on the same side and it still felt like he was her enemy. If she spent any amount of time around him she'd end up speaking her mind and he'd turn to blistering fury again.

By the time she reached her moped, the anger had cooled into a bad mood. Being an Equalist was going as poorly as not being one had gone. Except now Mako hated her, instead of just not caring about her. And Korra hated her too.

Asami lifted her helmet off of the handlebars and stared into the maroon tint. She'd had it specially made to match her racing suits. She wished she could go back to the days when everything was easy, when all she needed to care about was finding accessories that matched. She wished her mother was here.

She missed the sound of her name until it was repeated next to her ear. "Asami, hey!" _Wen._ "I was calling you, but I guess you couldn't hear me."

Asami pulled on her helmet. "Sorry. I've got a lot on my mind."

"I saw you at the speech," he said. He tugged at the red muffler of his uniform. Asami thought of Korra and Mako in their disguises. She should warn someone about them. _Go back to your buddies and report on us._

"Yeah, I was there." She tightened the strap under her chin.

He held up his hands. "So what did you think?"

He was giving her one of his vibrant, uncomplicated stares. She could lie to Wen. "It was great, really inspirational."

"Oh yeah?" He looked down and twisted his hood between both hands. "That's what I thought too. It just looked like you weren't having a good time, so I thought I should check."

He wrung the hood tighter. There was a ripping sound and a section of the brass headgear separated from the cloth, falling before he could catch it. "Damn it." He stooped to retrieve it.

He seemed flat, when he was usually crackling with energy. "Shouldn't you be happier?" Asami asked. "You—I mean _we_ won."

"Yeah." Wen wiped the piece on his sleeve. "It's just—" He glanced around, even though they were the only two people at the park's perimeter. "It's a little different than I was expecting."

"I think it's awful." She swung her leg over the seat and started the engine. "Anyway, I was going to head back to the island. You want a ride?"

Wen stared at her. "Uh, sure, I'm off duty for the afternoon."

He turned out to be a nervous passenger, sitting stiff as a board and clutching her waist at every turn. Asami kept to a low speed and made a face at the pavement creeping by. At least she didn't have to worry about scaring any more pedestrians with the noise.

The mecha tanks were still on patrol, but she didn't bother to dodge them and they rolled on without stopping as she passed. "Not a lot of people out today, huh?" Wen said behind her.

Asami half-turned her head. "I think they're afraid. Of us."

"Yeah...right." He fell silent again.

At the port, he lingered by the door of the shed and poked at the clutter while she put the moped away. "You've got a lot of weird stuff in here."

"It's not mine, it's the city's. It's like a lost and found for the docks. They just let me use some space in it." Asami brushed a streak of dust from the moped's frame. "Or they used to, anyway."

Wen was holding up a netted glass float. "I'm sure Amon will let you have the whole thing if you ask."

Asami shrugged and slid her hand behind her neck, sweeping her hair from her collar. He dropped the ball back in its crate and followed her as she passed him. "Sorry."

"Don't worry about it," Asami said. "Come on, the boat's this way."

She led him along the docks toward the ferry terminal. A man cleaning a sailboat deck leaned on his mop to watch them without expression, and Wen lifted his shoulders and walked faster. Asami almost wished he would be as excited as he was supposed to be, just to counter the dreariness all around them.

The speedboat was still the only vessel at the ferry terminal, bumping against its splintered post at the end of the pier. Asami looked out at the bay, stretching calm and empty all the way to Air Temple Island. The sun was just beginning its downward arc.

She caught a flicker in the corner of her eye and glanced up. A cargo ship was in the way, but over it she could see—

"Is everything okay?" Wen asked after a few seconds

"When did that go up?" She pointed to the statue of Avatar Aang that stood watch over the city.

Wen followed her finger. "Oh that. Earlier this morning, I think. I wasn't part of the team that put it there."

_That_ was a colossal replica of Amon's mask, covering the statue's face. Dual Equality banners were draped from his staff. "It's...not really a good idea, is it?" Asami stared at the display for a few more seconds and turned her bewilderment on Wen. "What's the point?"

Wen shrugged with his hands in his pockets, looking at his boots. "Showing people that Amon's the spiritual leader of the city, not the Avatar." He toed a pebble over the side of the pier.

Her eyes dragged back to the statue and its mask. It looked garish on the bald head, and the smile seemed intolerably smug. If she wanted to get people to hate Amon, Asami thought, she'd show them this. The banners wafted back and forth in the breeze.

She lowered herself to sit on the pier, letting her legs swing over the water. "I don't really want to go back to the island," she admitted.

Wen joined her, sitting cross-legged on the planks. "Me neither."

Asami raised her eyebrows at him. "I mean, it's really great that we won so quickly and all," he said, "but somehow it just—"

"Doesn't feel right," Asami finished. She flipped a hand at the statue. "Amon talks about wanting to save non-benders, but this isn't helping anyone. It just looks like we're gloating." She could ask him about it later, but part of her knew he'd just say something like "it's necessary for the revolution," or "we must show people how important Equality is."

Wen rubbed the back of his neck. "Like I said, it's not exactly what I expected."

"Which part?"

"All of it. The bombs, the patrols everywhere, the city being so quiet, things like the statue and the island." He slouched over with his elbows on his knees and sighed. "The thing is, it's so amazing seeing Amon take away bending. A lot of these people I knew growing up, benders who were in the gangs, or trying to join them, you always knew they could mess you up if they really felt like it, and they knew you knew. But they'd try it on Amon and he'd just dodge everything they threw at him, like it was nothing. And just like that, they were normal like the rest of us."

Wen was echoing what Maya had said. Asami thought of the prisoner, and of Mako and Korra, and her stomach turned over.

She hadn't asked Amon to explain how he took bending; it was part of what she thought of as the _other_ Amon, the one that belonged to the mask and hood. The man she'd gotten used to didn't seem like the type to talk to spirits, or whatever, at all.

Asami took another look at Aang, larger than life and a new sense of loneliness sprouted in her. She'd hardly spent any time at all with him, really. Maybe the Amon onstage and on the radio _was_ the real one, and hers was just some dark-haired mystery man.

Wen didn't notice her discomfort. "And then I learned about chi blocking and it all fit so perfectly with what I'd read, like the world was finally becoming what it was supposed to be." He dropped his eyes to the water. "I suppose I jumped ahead to the point when everyone saw it like that. This big stuff was just...plans."

"I know what you mean." Asami set her chin on her shoulder as her thoughts strayed to Amon again. _You could be a powerful symbol, Asami_. If the statue was his idea of a symbol, she didn't want to think of what he was planning for her.

She turned to Wen. "What does your dad think of this?"

"He hasn't seen it yet. He's still up in the mountains, doing maintenance stuff," Wen said. "What's your dad think? He's got to be pretty happy about the way it's gone down."

Asami reacted to the implication that her father would enjoy this mess with immediate anger. "He's—" Reality caught up to her instinct, and she swallowed whatever was supposed to follow. "He is happy. You heard the speech."

"Right." Water lapped against the pier.

Asami went on. "He's a fanatic about Equalism. I'm not devoted enough to the cause for him."

Wen thought that over and gave a forced laugh. "Usually the problem is the opposite. I got lucky with Dad; I know some people whose parents reported them to the police once they found out they were Equalists."

"That must have been hard." _At least they were acting out of a sense of morality instead of sheer hatred._

She shouldn't be telling any of this to Wen. Asami brought her knees up and shoved herself to her feet. "Let's go. I want to get back before the sun gets too low."

She drove at a moderate speed, assuming Wen would feel the same way about speedboats that he felt about mopeds. He sat in the front seat beside her with one arm slung over the side. Once they'd cleared the port he pointed at the pro-bending arena. "They've restarted repairs."

Asami slowed and took a long look. She could see people crawling around the shattered dome. "What for?"

"Rallies and events and things." They watched the crane lower a pane of glass to the workers' outstretched arms. Their boat drifted sideways in the current. "I have to admit, I'll kind of miss pro-bending," Wen said.

Asami looked at him with surprise. "Seriously?"

"Yeah. I went to school with the Rabaroos' earthbender, Ula. I used to follow their matches." He sat up with signs of his old energy. "They made it all the way to the finals this year."

"Oh, I know," Asami said. She felt an echo of the electric excitement pro-bending used to give her and smiled. "I was following all the matches for the tournament. Though I was mostly rooting for the Fire Ferrets."

"Oh yeah? Didn't the Ferrets have the Avatar on their team?" Wen said. He sat back and crossed his arms, clicking his tongue. "I always thought it was cheating to let her play, no matter what the refs said."

Asami giggled. "She is a pretty amazing waterbender."

"So did you know her?"

Her cheer died. "Yeah, kind of." She turned her attention back to driving and shifted the throttle forward until the boat was bouncing over the wavelets. They passed the statue and Asami imagined Amon lecturing her for talking about pro-bending at all. "Anyway, it's all over now."

"Uh-huh." Wen went back to leaning on his arm and stared at the water speeding past. "It's for the best," he said slowly. "It's not fun, but it had to be this way if non-benders were ever going to get a chance."

"Right," Asami agreed. She pushed a stray lock of hair out of her face. "This is a revolution."


	13. Chapter 13

Dawn poured down the mountains as Amon climbed the Air Temple's tower. He took a few unscheduled minutes at a window to enjoy the sight of the sun washing over his city, striking silver off metal and glass. The indulgence left him barely enough time to check on a sleeping Tarrlok before boarding the airship.

Hiroshi was in the cockpit, and this morning he felt the need to share his approval of the rumored relationship between Amon and his daughter. Amon kept his gaze fixed on the towers and bridges ahead and supposed he should be grateful that the man wasn't steaming with parental outrage instead. But Hiroshi was a reminder that there were too many years between Asami and himself and Amon didn't care to discuss the subject at length. He endured joshing about 'taking care of my little girl' for five endless seconds before steering the conversation to the approaching fleet.

Sato focused. "The biplanes are fueled, the pilots are all at the mountain base, and the harbor's been closed so divers can put the mines in place."

Amon listened and nodded, reflecting on the difference that Asami's willing enrollment had made. His chief engineer was back on an even keel at last.

All his Equalists were diving into their new responsibilities and working in earnest beneath the banners of Equality. A runner met him at the pro-bending arena's entrance to deliver a report from the scouts sweeping the city: a few minor instances of rebellion, easily quelled, no sign of the Avatar.

Inside the arena the emptied water pit was damp and a smell of disinfectant clung to the air, but the foreman promised it would all be ready in time for the rally tomorrow. Their stage was assembled at one end of the pit, and Amon walked its length to inspect it as he briefed the Lieutenant on the order of events.

They stopped to watch a section of the floor lift on hydraulics, revealing four thin poles. "Are you sure about this, Amon?" the Lieutenant asked under his breath. "The Air Nomads are popular and the children are young."

"No one is too young to be cleansed of their impurity," Amon replied. His eyes followed the rise of the platform. "We'll show the city how little Avatar Aang and his descendants truly matter to it." _And while the Avatar might hide from me, she'll come running once I publicly remove the last trace of airbending from the world. _Amon left further instructions with the Lieutenant and took his leave.

After a visit to the radio station and its skeleton crew of operators, Amon reconvened with Hiroshi to assess the rally in Republic City Park. The crowd had been full and their reaction enthusiastic, but Sato was feeling especially buoyant because his darling daughter had visited him at last.

There were days that Amon was grateful for the mask. He grimaced at nothing, and then clarified with a level tone. "You said Asami was here in the park, today?"

"Right here," Hiroshi said with a smile. "She left a few minutes ago." He put a hand on his chest and shook his head with a sudden solemnity. "I can't thank you enough for turning her around." He closed his eyes, seemingly overcome with emotion.

After a few seconds he reopened them and clapped Amon's shoulder. "And like I said, she couldn't have chosen a better—"

Amon waved it off. "It's good to hear you've reunited with her."

He restrained himself from adding anything more and bid Hiroshi farewell. He headed to City Hall, grinding his teeth at both Sato and his perversely flighty child. Of course they would be the first grains of sand in the gears.

She must have taken a boat to get to the city. Thinking of what had lain just a few meters below her caused Amon a shadow of concern.

He didn't like the idea of Asami wandering Republic City by herself. But sending people to find her would cause more undesirable speculation among the rank and file. He didn't know how word had gotten out so quickly—and he did not approve of his followers' interest in his personal life—but there was no helping it now. She was smart enough to stay safe. He phoned the guards at the port and instructed them to let him know when Ms. Sato returned.

The hours ticked away in tasks and preparations, the critical work of keeping the city under control and resetting the board for the next phase of the revolution. The anti-bending movement was out of the shadows and on the front page of newspapers worldwide, and his name was on every tongue, spoken with fear or with awe. Non-benders in every nation were making up their minds about the Equalists with their eyes on Republic City.

In the late afternoon, an aide delivering a long string of news brought him word of Asami. "—activity in the tunnels. Oh, and Ms. Sato has returned to Air Temple Island."

Amon snapped a folder shut and waited half a heartbeat. Though if a mine _had _caught her boat, it would have been mentioned first.

The aide bowed. "That's everything, sir. Any messages to send?"

Amon considered reprimanding the guards for letting her go, but they'd been diligent about preventing other traffic from entering or leaving the port. They'd undoubtedly assumed that Asami had his special permission. "No. Check with Liu on your way out." He returned to the file in his hand.

* * *

His schedule brought him back Air Temple Island as the sun was lowering into the Mo Ce Sea.

He looked in on Tarrlok again and found him awake, but looking worse for the wear. Amon brought him out to wash in the hopes that it would revive him. He stood against the wall in the rustic lavatory as Tarrlok finished up, sketching out future plans for his benefit. "Next week you'll release a statement repenting your crimes and condemning bending as the cause."

Tarrlok was absorbed with the sink, moving his hand under the faucet. Amon thought about reminding him that he'd been freed from the curse of bloodbending.

Tarrlok closed the tap at last and turned to him. "Noatak." His eyes were tired, and sunken in their sockets, but for a moment Amon saw the same wide-eyed worry that used to follow him everywhere when they were boys. "How long can this really last? How are you going to take bending from everyone in the world?"

"One at a time," Amon said, "until I've achieved equality."

Tarrlok stared at him. His hands lifted and then fell. "I'm done here."

"Very good."

Tarrlok shambled past him and out the door. Amon followed after, climbing the ladder to the attic. He watched Tarrlok go straight to the cell in the corner. The compliance made things easier, but something about the show of martyred surrender disgusted him.

He locked the cell door and stood facing him. "Things have changed, brother. Accept it."

Tarrlok took hold of the iron bars and shook his head. "This is not the way to save the world. You don't know what you're doing to people."

Trust Tarrlok to try for an appeal to emotion. There were times when Amon wondered how his tenderhearted brother could have gone into politics, and times when the career choice seemed only natural. "Does it matter?"

Tarrlok threw him another tragic look. Amon gave him more provisions for the night and left for the sentry outpost as dusk fell.

It stood dark and vacant. Just as well, he needed to make the rounds anyway.

As he walked, Amon expanded his attention to the dozens of streams around him, coursing in their closed circuits wherever he went. One guarding the dock. Three nearing him on the path and stopping to bow and report on their days. Many in the dormitories. None in the baths. Four in the tearoom.

He didn't recognize every thrumming pulse—the tempo didn't vary much from person to person—but there were a few he'd become familiar with. The Lieutenant in the courtyard, telling him that the prisoners would be ready for him in half an hour. One distant in the tower. One even further off…in the women's hall, which was supposed to be empty. _Asami. _

Amon weighed his options as he strolled toward her. The past two days had been agreeable, and he was becoming attached to the idea of having her near. Given the way Asami had spoken last night, he could assume she felt the same. He didn't know why she was hiding all the way out here but he meant to bring her back to the outpost with him. They could talk about her excursion today along the way.

He found her in a nun's room on the first floor; she was sitting on the bed when he slid the door aside. A brass lantern on the bedside table flickered and she glanced up.

"What are you doing in here?" he asked.

Asami looked away from him. Her hair fell in curls and waves, reflecting the light like spilled ink. She gestured across the room to a narrow table that held a mess of paper. Crumpled sheets decorated the floor around it. "Thinking. Trying to write the radio speech like you want." Her voice was as lifeless as her expression.

Amon entered and closed the door behind him. "Why did you come here?"

"I wanted someplace quiet."

"The outpost is quiet."

He saw her wrinkle her nose in profile. "You want me to stay in one room all day like before?"

"No, but you can't disappear like this." He hadn't wanted to start with a reprimand but..."You left the island as well."

"I did." Asami sat back on her hands, turning her deadpan gaze to the floor. "I was bored."

Amon had never found a word so irritating as 'bored' had become in the past week. He told himself her restless energy would be useful once it could be directed to something. He stepped closer. "I thought I told you to stay here."

"The city's not dangerous at all. There's hardly anyone out." Asami flexed a foot and studied the toe of her boot. She spared him another glance and raised an eyebrow. "Everyone's hiding from the Equalists."

Another sheet of paper lay on the covers beside her, webbed with creases and full of doodles of satomobiles, around a few crossed-out lines of writing. Amon closed his eyes. It had been easy enough to coax an agreement out of Asami last night, but getting an heiress to do actual work might prove to be a challenge. She appeared to be regressing to the alternating insouciance and defiance of the past week. "That is not the point. You disobeyed my order."

She was wearing makeup today, the plum and violet shades that made her look older, and more self-assured. Her rich mouth quirked as she turned her head aside again. "That was an order? I thought it was just a suggestion."

She was deliberately provoking him by playing the society girl. Amon took Asami's chin and forced her to look at him. "_Yes_, it was an order. In the future, you will treat every _suggestion _I make as an order."

Her green eyes went wide and he almost regretted the move. But the signs of distress vanished as she jerked away and slapped his hand down. "What is your problem?" She surged to her feet. "I have a right to go out if I want to."

"No, you don't. You aren't entitled to special treatment just because you are _bored._"

"It's special treatment if I don't want to be a prisoner? I saw the statue of Aang. None of this is for safety; it's just to make a statement. We don't belong here."

_Another day, another little mutiny_. "I explained the reason for staying on this island yesterday and that has not changed, regardless of what you choose to think. The statue is not your concern." Amon tilted his head. "Did you also see the underwater mines in the bay?"

"What?" She faltered. "No…why are there mines?"

"Preparations. They will go off at the slightest disturbance." He emphasized the last two words.

"You mean they're for the United Forces? You're going to blow up their ships?"

Amon felt like shaking her. _You might have blown up you foolish girl._ The possibility had chased through his mind all afternoon while it had been nothing but a lark to her. "I told you that the fighting is not over. No more field trips. Do not leave the island again without my permission. And that is an order."

Asami's mouth went tight, and she closed her eyes and pressed her fingers to her temples. "Ugh. I said nothing happened in the city. If you'd just let me leave on an airship, there wouldn't have been a problem." She dropped her hands to her waist and shot him a challenging glare. "Or did you not want me to see things like the statue, or to hear about the council being kidnapped and how you've made bending illegal?"

No he hadn't, precisely because of the risk that she'd react like this. But his reply came as easy as breathing. "My plans for this revolution were in place long before you joined, Asami. The council of benders was the poison at the heart of the United Republic. They created the laws that oppressed non-benders and named the Equalists a public threat for trying to change the city for the better. As for the _new_ law, permitting bending in this city will make it easier for benders to sabotage us and it is tacit approval for them to carry on as they always have. If outlawing bending crimes alone worked there would have been no need for the Equalists in the first place."

Asami opened her mouth, and then closed it. She made an exasperated sound and spun in a tight half-circle to stalk to the table and drop sideways into the chair. She slung an arm over its back, tapping the wood and giving him a narrow look. "You have an answer for everything, don't you?"

She was coming close to outright rebellion. "For every question you ask, yes. Regardless of your right to ask them."

"What?" She sat up as her voice climbed the register. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Amon refused to let this escalate further. He adopted a still water calm before replying. "You agreed to join, but now you question every move I make. If you are part of this revolution, then you will stop complaining and do as I say."

"And what if I don't want to be a part of it anymore?"

The question wrote itself in the air before him, blotting his vision. Amon clenched his hands behind his back. "You wish to leave?"

Asami's brow wrinkled, and then smoothed. She left the chair to lean against the table next to it, folding her arms and crossing one ankle over the other. She shrugged. "Maybe," she said. "It's all I'm worth to you anyway."

"You'll have to explain."

"As an Equalist." Asami leaned forward. "If I don't believe in your cause a hundred percent then I don't matter, because you don't have any use for me."

What had she been doing in the city all day? A few ominous possibilities came to mind, but this didn't sound like the kind of propaganda that would come from rebels. "You know that's not true," he said.

"Then what if I don't want to get rid of all bending?"

_Then too bad. _"What is this about?"

Her frown deepened. "Answer me. I don't want to get rid of bending. So now what?"

"Nothing," Amon said. What did she expect him to say? "I did not ask you to join because of the strength of your convictions."

Asami stared at him. She cut her eyes to the side and hiked up her shoulders. "And I think the statue's a horrible idea. People will hate it."

"I'm not going to argue about it, Asami." She didn't understand its importance. Perhaps it was his fault for letting her get used to him without the mask. _I like you better without it. _

He had no time for these repudiations, not from her, not from Tarrlok. If they couldn't appreciate what he was doing, then…

"Is pro-bending outlawed as well?"

"The sport is prohibited under the new law. That's not going to change."

"And what if I still like it?"

Amon's patience began to smolder. "Get to the point, Ms. Sato."

Asami kicked her heel against the table. "Just admit that it's all you care about. Equalism. Conquering Republic City. It matters more than anything else. It matters more than me."

_Yes, of course it does. _Equality was the work of years, decades, his entire life. Asami was a distraction of two days, one that he'd given far too much attention to. He wasn't going to be snipped at an eighteen-year-old who still saw bending as a sport for her entertainment. "And you expect me to abandon all those things for your sake?"

Asami's eyes flashed and she started upright. "No, I mean the only reason you're interested in me is _this_." She snatched a handful of paper from behind her and thrust it out. "Writing speeches and things. Everything you say—and do—is because you want me to work for you." Asami opened her hand and the papers swooped and spun across the floor between them. She re-crossed her arms. "I get it now."

Amon's chest drew tight. In some ways he could appreciate Asami's ferocity, but he had a war to fight and a government to build and if she wouldn't put forth the effort for public relations like he needed, then she was right, he had no reason to waste time on her naive outbursts. "I've had enough of this."

He did not allow himself to feel disappointment. Let her stay in this cold, bare room all night. He'd figure out how to manage the failed experiment that was Asami Sato in the morning. But in the meantime, he wasn't going to let her think her grievances had any basis in reality. For that reason he added, "You mean more to me than that."

His blandest reassurances always had a surprising effect on Asami. Her scowl collapsed in an instant, replaced by a stricken look. Her eyes welled up and she turned her face away, hiding it like she always did.

Amon found himself moving, going to her. It was reflexive: Asami's sadness simply obliged a response from his muscles and limbs that bypassed conscious thought. The origin of the impulse was unclear, but he knew could only be satisfied by his arms closing around her.

He freed one hand to tip up the mask, balancing it atop his head before dragging down the hood. "What's wrong?"

Asami stared past him, pressing her lips together. "I just told you."

His own impatience had cooled. She wasn't relenting, but she wasn't exactly resisting him either. Amon drew her closer. "Really."

A tremor ran between her shoulders and her head bowed against him. "And…it's just my dad."

"I see." Everything explained in four words. Amon realized he should have foreseen this. A single unsupervised encounter had undone all his careful work on her and left a paranoid wreck for him to deal with.

His fingers slipped through her hair. The scent made him think of a moonlit garden. "I was trying to keep you two apart for a while longer. What happened?"

"I saw him at the park today." She laid her cheek by his shoulder and lifted a slender hand to his chest. "He apologized, but I can tell he's only happy with me because I joined. Nothing's really changed."

Amon didn't doubt it. "Hiroshi is caught up in his work. The revolution is keeping the cause at the front of his mind."

A finger traced little patterns on his coat. "It's always going to be that way. I don't know what he'd do if I told him what I really thought." Her hand tightened around the fabric. "Or if I tried to leave again."

_If._ Amon laid his hand over hers. He didn't want to choose between Asami and her father but if it came down to it, if there was no fixing this rift between them…he hadn't forgotten the scene he'd interrupted, how Hiroshi's fit had been moments away from violence. The evidence of it was in his arms now. Hiroshi had been invaluable through the years and without him the revolution would have been nearly impossible, but the Equalists had the city, Sato's inventions worked without him, and all signs pointed to Asami sharing her father's talent for engineering.

She seemed to be thinking along the same lines. "I don't want to work with him on anything. At all." She shifted to raise her eyes to his. "And I really do mean what I said about bending, and about the statue."

What it meant was that she intended to stay. What had looked like total failure was merely a setback. "It's fine."

Anyway, Asami was important just as this, as _his_. Her presence at his side would serve his public image as he shaped it for the long term. He smoothed a palm down her back. "You don't need to fear telling me such things."

Another sigh. Amon held her as minutes drained away. The interlude was disrupting his schedule, but what did it matter? He would be working late into the night as it was. This was the price of keeping Asami on their side. _And the prize._ If only he could get her to behave when he wasn't around.

The room was dimming as the lantern's candle burned low, and the familiarity of the moment pointed to the next step he needed to take. Amon lifted Asami's chin, with the barest touch this time, and tended to her dejection with a kiss.

Her mouth held only distant warmth, and the tepid response spurred him to try harder. But she broke apart, lowering her eyes and pulling away. Her hands trailed along his sleeves and Amon let her go with reluctance.

"I'm sorry for leaving today," she said softly. "I didn't know it would cause problems."

Amon set the distracting urges aside and accepted her apology with a nod. "Let's return to the outpost."

He helped Asami gather her drafts, and she let him lead her out of the building. The overcast night seemed fairly temperate to him but Asami crowded close to him, hugging the papers to her chest, and he slowed his pace to keep from jostling her away.

The women's hall was on the opposite corner of the island from the outpost and getting from the one to the other required passing the tower. Amon gave it as wide a berth as possible. Asami looked around him at the preparations in the courtyard. "What's that?" she asked.

"I will be taking bending from more prisoners tonight." He took her hand to keep her moving along until trees hid the area from view. Seeing one person lose their bending had upset her enough. After today's meltdown there was no question of allowing her to witness more.

"Oh. Right." Her fingers curled around his as they walked on. The lamps along this part of the path were dark, but the airships patrolling the bay provided scraps of light. "Amon, what am I supposed to tell people? Everyone I saw in the city looked afraid or upset."

She was still willing to work on the radio address for him, which was good, but given the state of her efforts so far he should probably just write it for her. Along with everything else she put out. For a while at least. But Asami would need to feel she had _some_ control over what she said. If he could just get a few lines out of her, that would be enough. "The city is in a transition. It's natural for people to be upset," Amon said. "Tell them why you joined the anti-bending movement. Tell them about your mother."

"Um." She turned her face away. "You heard me earlier. I don't think I can be that convincing." She looked back as the path climbed upward to the outpost. "Are you really taking bending from all those people back there?"

Amon suppressed a sigh. "Yes. They are guards and police officers, benders who are trained to maim and mutilate non-benders. They are also the ones who are the most likely to lead a rebellion against us. Leaving them armed with their bending endangers every one of my people."

They arrived at the outpost and went inside. Amon turned on the lamp by the door and went to the hearth. "Your uncertainty will help you reach out to others who feel the same," he said over his shoulder. He pushed tinder under the logs and arranged a handful of sticks over it, then lit a match. "Many people have lost loved ones to bending and told themselves it was a random crime that couldn't be helped. Or gone in the other direction, turning to pure hate. We're helping them all by showing that there's another way."

He watched the flames creep over the kindling to be sure it would burn and stood. Asami was leaning on the table, toying with the edge of his map.

The sight sent a feral memory darting through Amon. _Asami sitting there and_…he let his eyes wander over her. Her skirt today outlined her figure in a flattering way. Although the over-tight spare clothes he'd lent her yesterday had had their appeal too. The White Lotus' undershirts were not quite as opaque as they should be.

But those were inconvenient thoughts just now. He still had work to do tonight. "You joined the Equalists for a reason, didn't you?"

"Yes." A line appeared between Asami's eyebrows and she met his eyes through the mask. "I did."

"That's a good place to start. I can help you write more, if you'd like." He began to turn away. "I'll be back later tonight."

Asami inhaled. "Amon."

He stopped. "Yes?"

"At the park today, I saw…" An unusual expression skipped over her face, and was gone before he could pin it down. "I saw Wen. I gave him a ride back to the island."

He studied her with a sense of misgiving. _What were you about to say? _"Just don't take the boats out again. And stay inside tomorrow morning. The fleet shouldn't reach the island, but there's no guarantee."

"Okay." Amon opened the door and headed out.

He got as far as the end of the porch before doubt wrapped around him and held him fast. _It could be nothing_…but he couldn't see a connection to her father, which meant she'd seen someone—or something—else at the park that she'd decided to keep from him at the last second.

Amon drummed his fingers against the side of his leg and stared into the woods.

There was a cloud hanging over Asami that refused to go away. She still had one foot planted outside of the Equalists, and those insights of hers from earlier were troubling. What if it was more than Hiroshi upsetting her, what if she really _was_ rethinking her decision altogether? She'd found it so easy to accuse him. He could very well come back to the outpost and find it empty again. He wouldn't put it past Asami to take a boat out in the middle of the night, regardless of the mines.

Whatever she might be hiding, he wanted it out now.

She was flipping through her draft when Amon re-entered. She gave him a puzzled look as he closed the door. "Who did you see in the park?"

The unknown emotion flickered by. "I told you, it was Wen."

"Who else?" He drifted closer to her. "Who were you going to tell me about?"

Asami tensed. "No one."

She looked half-ready to start another fight. Or to bolt. Amon stopped himself and breathed in, clearing his mind.

He managed to reach Asami's side, and skimmed a hand along her arm. She averted her eyes. "Asami, I can see there's more." He untied the mask and left it on the table, smiling as best as he could under the stiff scar. "I was worried when you left the island. The city is still full of benders who hate the Equalists. Even I can't protect you all the time."

Asami held her elbows and drew into herself. If he'd had any doubts about her lying, the reaction put them to rest. "What did you want to tell me?" he cajoled.

Her eyes screwed shut. "It…pro-benders." She exhaled in a long sigh and opened her eyes. "I saw some pro-benders I knew. I didn't want them to lose their bending, so I didn't say anything."

"Why were they at the rally?" Amon kept to a tone of mild curiosity. "Did anyone else recognize them?"

"They were just watching Dad speak. And no, no one recognized them." The rest of Asami's tension seemed to rush out of her as she slumped against the table and gripped its edge. "Because they had chi blocker uniforms. They weren't planning anything though, they were just hiding."

_Interesting._ "Thank you for telling me."

"Yeah." The strained whisper was directed at the wall. "No problem." Misery was in every line of her body.

Amon reached for her face. "Asami—"

She ducked around him. "The fire's gone out." She went to the hearth, where the embers were glowing under the blackened logs, and fumbled the matchbox down from the shelf where Amon had placed it.

Amon followed her. "I'll take care of it."

Asami didn't respond. She kept her back to him as she struck a match. It broke, and she flung the pieces into the logs with a huff. Amon reached around to take her fingers as she dug for another.

"Don't you have to someplace to be?" Her face was set with the same sullen resistance as before.

He was learning; if he could draw out the source and give her comfort, it would pass. "I know you don't enjoy this." He eased the matchbox from her hand. "It's alright."

"It's more than not enjoying it." Asami made a face and looked away. "I feel like a traitor."

"It will get better, Asami. Be patient." Amon touched his lips to her hair. "As I said, you can always talk to me about your concerns. No harm will come to your friends."

He took her fraction of a nod as acquiescence. Amon straightened, plucking a match from the box. He struck it on the brown stones that lined the top of the hearth. It lit with a cracked hiss and he sheltered the flame with his hand as he crouched down.

Asami stepped aside, watching him. "You know, I never really learned how to start a fire," she said after a moment. She folded her arms and leaned against the wall. "There's a big fireplace in the sitting room back home, but I never touched it. I'm not sure Dad did either."

"I've been making them since I was a boy." He rose, dusting off his hands and facing her. "There's a way to do it without matches. I could teach you sometime."

"That would be nice. We could go camping."

"Perhaps." Amon couldn't conceive of taking time away from the city, but the suggestion woke his thoughts of keeping her. Her half-smile was encouraging. "In the summer, after things have settled." With luck, she would have forgotten about it by then.

A log crackled as the fire burnt through its bark. Asami's smile faded into seriousness. "Amon." She left the wall to stand before him, looking into his eyes. "Aside from my friends, can you promise to listen to me and think about doing things differently?" She was opening up, with that sincerity that belied all her sophisticated airs. "Like about fighting the Avatar, or ending all bending, or—"

_Avatar. _His mind stopped on the word and circled it. She hadn't mentioned the Avatar in her complaints earlier.

The pieces fell into place and Asami was so beautifully transparent that Amon had to scoop her into a kiss in wordless appreciation. She made a brief exclamation as he cut her off mid-sentence. _Avatar._

Her reluctance to tell him about the park, the mysterious pro-benders, her alliance with the Fire Ferrets; it all pointed to what the absent Avatar Korra was up to in his city. _They had chi blocker uniforms_.

No wonder she'd been so out of sorts this evening. The Avatar would not have been happy to learn of her association with the Equalists. _Good._ Amon looped an arm about Asami's waist and snuck his other hand beneath her hair. He skated a thumb over her ear and she melted against him. She'd asked him for something, hadn't she? A promise of some kind? _Something, listen, bending_. That sounded right. Amon broke the kiss to murmur, "Yes, I promise." Whatever Asami wanted to hear he would tell her. She was walking a very fine line and when she fell, Amon needed it to be toward him.

When he stepped back, the blush climbing her cheeks was driven by a heartbeat that read like a telegraph code. The thought of continuing was tantalizing; he could spend all night pleasing her out of her intractable sadness.

But the Lieutenant would be throwing a fit by now and Amon needed to pass on the news of the eminent spy in their ranks. He felt certain Asami would stay put for tonight, at least. He fetched his mask and replaced it before opening the door. "Goodnight, Asami."

"Goodnight." Her breath was still falling short. Touches of the scar trailed up from her smudged lipstick and Amon realized that he would need to find something more durable than cheap stage makeup soon. Or he could just stop giving in to the temptation to remove his mask around her. A passing fancy made him imagine gathering her in his arms and telling her _stay with me_.

It came to him that there was no way Asami _could_ leave, not when she knew so much about him. If worse came to worse...there were ways to deal with it. She was already showing willingness to compromise, as he'd intended all along, and she'd come around as long as he treated her well. Asami Sato was as much his as the city was.

With the matter settled in his mind, Amon set off down the unlit path toward the glow in the courtyard. As he neared, a spotlight caught on the tower and slid off into the bay below. At the base of the steps, the last items on his agenda were waiting blindfolded and bound. He shed the last of sentiment and affection in the caustic light. _How long can this last,_ _Tarrlok?_ _Forever._


	14. Chapter 14

Asami lay awake.

When she closed her eyes she saw the line of prisoners snaking away into the dark, and she saw the statue in Yue Bay holding Equalist banners over the city. Aang's outstretched arm looked like her father's as he'd proclaimed the end of bending.

Amon had been gone for hours now. The moonless night had sheared away the last of the fire and the outpost was blanketed in darkness. Asami had nothing left to distract herself from the day's disasters.

Once she and Wen returned to the island they'd packed their shared uncertainty away, closing them up in their own silent thoughts. But the restless ocean, and the cliffs that opened upon the empty bay and city, had sent Asami wandering again and her course wound inward until she was standing in Tenzin's office.

The Equalists had been through the room, leaving it in an unsettled state. Thick brown folders were fanned over the desk, books had been pulled from their rows in the bookcase and left in careless stacks on the floor. Asami thought of what Mako had told her in the park. _They kidnapped the council. Tenzin barely got away_.

But he _had_ gotten away and there was nothing she could do about the rest of the council, so she carefully—respectfully—picked through the open drawers for a small sheaf of paper and a pen and moved on. The women's dormitories were empty and unused, and Asami decided her old room would be a good, quiet place to work out what kind of speech Amon wanted from her. She sat writing at the plain table for a while, but the clean, sunlit silence kept calling up memories of her long days of living there before, back when she'd been stinging with new wounds and freshly severed from her world, out of place and increasingly alone.

Asami stared at the shadowed ceiling beams over the bed. She tried closing her eyes again and saw Mako glaring at her with disgust and contempt.

If things had gone differently she might be with the Fire Ferrets now, playing with Pabu and trying to laugh at Bolin's lame jokes. She'd be hiding out and hating the Equalists as anonymous goons in glowfly goggles, and never once thinking Amon was anything other than a red and cream glower pasted on brick walls. She would have never known how little of her father was left, would have never felt that knife drive deeper than she'd thought possible. She would be happier.

Asami flipped the flat pillow over, tucking her arm underneath it as she turned on her side.

She'd traded writing for sitting in bitter listlessness as the afternoon faded. By the time Amon showed up she'd become certain he was just one more disappointment, another person whose concern for her was conditional. She meant to complete the collection of hurts, take what was already broken on the ground and grind her heel into it.

But Amon had absorbed her attacks and shown nothing more than faint irritation and even offense, and the fight hadn't lasted. How could it, when he told her she was more important than the work he'd given her, when he took her side against her father's? Hiroshi was vital to the Equalists but Amon believed in _her_. She might get tired of his absolute devotion to Equality but she couldn't deny that he answered all her questions about it patiently, as if he were pointing the way to a destination he knew she couldn't find on her own.

Asami's fingers curled into the linen beneath her cheek. She hadn't expected any consolation from him after their argument but Amon had offered it anyway. _Because he cares about me._

She might not be able to say that about anyone else in the world right now.

The whisper of the front door grazed the heavy silence, and quiet footsteps became a silhouette in the doorway only slightly denser than the blackness around it. Asami watched in half-lidded silence as Amon went about paring himself down to humanity.

She lifted her head. "You're back for the night?"

He sat on the bed beside her and leaned on one hand. "Yes."

The hushed, murmured moment held the familiarity of a relationship worn smooth by months, even years of closeness. Asami knew how bizarre their abrupt relationship looked—she'd seen the reactions, and the awkward jokes and looks of disgust and uncomfortable praise (_thanks, Dad_) made public opinion all too clear. But Amon joined her beneath the covers and traced her face with easy affection, and all the opinions in the world became ash in the warm instant where she went from being alone to having _someone_.

She claimed his hand and held it under her chin. Amon propped himself up on one elbow. "The First Division of the URN's fleet is still set to arrive early tomorrow," he said with a frown. "But the battle should be short. I will monitor it from here."

The frown was replaced by a slight smile. "Do you think you can resist the allure of speedboat racing for the day?"

Asami couldn't help smiling as she looked to the side in mock consideration. "I suppose I can manage."

The rest of what he'd said caught up with her, dampening her flirtatious mood. _Another battle. _

She ran her thumb over the back of his hand, feeling the ridges of veins and bones. His hands were the only part of him that he never disguised. _If only we could be somewhere else. If only he could be someone else._

But that was a pointless thing to wish for now; he already _was_ someone else for her, someone no one else knew. "Why do you think it'll it be short?" she asked.

"We've been preparing for the United Republic's response from the start," Amon replied. "Your father is leading the counterattack."

Asami turned that piece of information over until it clicked. "You're using the biplanes."

"We are."

She held onto his hand, lowering her eyes. _Biplanes. The bombs, the statue, tanks in the streets._ This was the world they lived in, it was all necessary for this revolution. _Bending is illegal. The metalbender collapsing under his hands._ That particular scene would have been repeated over and over outside the tower tonight.

She'd almost told him everything about Mako and Korra earlier; they could have been in that line of benders. Asami drew in a breath and glanced up. "You said you'd think about doing things differently. With benders, at least."

Amon gave her a blank look, and then he slowly nodded. "Of course."

"Well?"

He shrugged one shoulder. "You worry about them too much, Asami."

"I think it might really hurt people," she persisted. She didn't know what it was like to have bending, or to lose it, but—

"No one dies from losing their bending. They are no less able than any other non-bender now."

"But they way they react—"

Heaving a sigh, Amon closed his eyes. "They only fear losing their power," he recited. "Mercy for a bender now means suffering for a non-bender in the future. I'm protecting our brothers and sisters."

He pulled his hand from hers and there was a lurch in Asami's chest. It was so easy for people to give up on her, to walk away and if Amon—

But he only brushed the knuckle of his forefinger down her nose. "You never told me how your meeting with your pro-bender friends went."

She had no answer to that—nothing she could say out loud anyway,—and Amon gave her an understanding smile. "Benders will never be willing to listen to the Equalists. The Avatar herself will rescue Triad members rather than see them lose their bending. It's out of your hands, Asami. This would all be happening regardless of your involvement." He settled back as if that was the end of the matter.

Asami thought about pushing back, and decided to let it go for now. "Never mind, then," she said. What was the point of fighting in the middle of the night, anyway? Amon seemed severe, but she already knew there was room for mercy, for middle ground. When she'd asked him to promise to listen to her earlier he'd swept her up as if words alone weren't enough and that had to be a good sign, proof that she'd been right about him while people like Korra and Mako were wrong.

_Such a kiss...s_he'd already re-imagined that show of passion several times and the vivid memory took on a new significance now that he was here; becoming a visceral awareness that Amon himself, the solid person under her fingertips, was as magnetic as ever. She moved closer to him, running a hand onto his chest and stretching up to touch her lips to his jaw.

He made a soft sound and she went on to the corner of his mouth as her heart picked up, and waited for him to turn his head before kissing him directly. After a moment, he responded to the tentative move with unreserved intensity and intent and Asami embraced the rising heat as he eased her over and the moment tipped into inevitability. Why should she care if this was too-much-too-fast? It was the most certain thing between them, the only solid ground in her life, and he had become so important to her, too important for her to hold anything back. _He's all I have left. _

Amon slid away from her—leaving her—and Asami sat up with a spasm of urgent worry.

It became a different sort of dismay when he reached his destination, because partners had tried this with her before and the day had been long enough and—Asami's _wait_ was disrupted by a thrill, a jolt of need, and her objections dissipated as she was drawn back down under the winding pleasure. The feeling spread, maddeningly; it was overwhelming one second and fleeting the next and Asami lost her breath chasing each sensation. Wildness grew through her like vines, suffocating any thought other than _yes_ and _please._ When Amon returned to her at last, with a sweet smile, she all but seized him in her fierce will to keep going.

They stayed tangled together as they cooled down, a state that quieted the last of her fears. Amon fell asleep with enviable ease as Asami idly ran her fingers though his hair. But a seamy feeling clung to her afterglow, and the vague sense of guilt coalesced into a single question: _would you do this after he took the bending of someone you knew?_

She gathered every moment of kindness and care, defending herself. _He's explained everything and he knows more than me, I just don't understand it all yet. He believes in me and wants to help the city and a lot of benders really do hurt people, and he promised to listen to me, he promised._ Asami pressed her face against warm, bare skin and welcomed the feeling of his arm tightening in response.

She lay awake all the same, until the darkness yawned into pearly light and birds began singing outside the window.

* * *

The telephone rang and it only took a moment for Amon to become canvas and leather again, and then he was gone.

Asami found her own armor, wrinkled and scuffed with dust as it was, and buttoned it on. The jacket was in need of a good wash and the trousers wanted pressing, but the durable racing suit still gave her a comforting feeling of _readiness_.

He returned a half-hour later as she was puzzling out the burners on the stove. "It's begun," he told her.

A deep-bellied whine underscored the announcement. As Asami followed Amon onto the porch a charcoal force of noise and speed shot past, ripping the air like cloth. The biplane swung around and passed over their heads again before vanishing into a gray haze hanging over the bay. Asami's nerves began crackling with displaced adrenaline.

The battle was obscured by the heavy fog and it seemed to her eyes like a chaotic shadow play, with white sprays of water signaling the explosions of underwater mines and bombs blooming orange and yellow on the dark shapes of battleships. Amon spoke in her ear. "You see the flames coming from the ships' cannons, how many there are? The United Republic has sent firebenders to burn us out of the city."

"The Equalists are using bombs," Asami replied, still fixed on the action. But she winced when a shot clipped a low-flying biplane and its lower wing burst into flame. The pilot ejected as the smoking aircraft went crashing into the bay and she wondered if the white parachute drifting down in the fray might hold her father.

"We need our weapons to fight the battleships. But we will only take their crews prisoner." His voice was a steady hum over the distant detonations and the droning of propellers. "If the United Forces wanted to take any of our people alive, do you think they would have sent firebenders? They want to destroy the Equalists, to crush them."

Asami nodded, half-listening and tapping her foot in a rapid, choppy beat. All she really wanted to do right now was get off the sidelines, get out and do something. She wanted to flatted a pedal under her boot and feel acceleration pushing her back into the seat. She wanted to be in one of those biplane, charged with mechanical vibrations and redolent gasoline. For the first time, she _wanted_ to be part of the fight.

A colossal waterspout spun out of the water and darted in and out of the fog, catching bombs dropped from hatches on the biplanes. "Oh," Asami breathed, wrapping her hands around the rail and leaning forward.

"The Avatar," Amon observed.

Asami looked over at him. He was standing away from the rail and watching the battle with thorough unconcern. The mask looked pitiless in profile, and the excitement singing through her quieted. "Are you going to—" She couldn't finish the thought.

"Not for this," he said. "Not even she can defeat us here."

As if to prove his point, the waterspout thinned and collapsed back into the bay. Asami watched with renewed anxiety as the fleet went on being torn apart from above and below.

"Yesterday, the Fire Nation sent a missive demanding we hand over Republic City," Amon went on. "There was no offer of a truce or negotiations." He swept his hand over the scene before them. "The United Forces mean to take the city and to restore the old government and if they do, the situation for non-benders will only become worse. Benders will want revenge for losing their power and they will take it out on the weakest among us."

Asami didn't exactly want to agree but it was hard to argue with that. No matter what, the anti-bending movement had changed things, divided the world into 'bender' and 'non-bender' in people's minds. If the Council could get away with curfews and chi blocking bans _before_ the revolution, what would happen after? She held her elbows and tried to root sincerely for the Equalists, for the biplanes and the torpedoes and the mecha tanks. _We're not on the wrong side._

At least it was over quickly, as Amon had promised. The cannonades from the ships slowed and stopped, and the swarming biplanes turned back toward the mountains. The sound of their props faded into nothing. The fog was thinning and Asami could see the bay was scattered with islets of listing, burning metal. Lifeboats bobbed among the wreckage. She caught sight of a biplane's boxy tail before the water swallowed it. People had been hurt here, some had almost certainly died.

"Is anyone helping them?" She pointed at the lifeboats. Her voice sounded thin without the din behind it.

"Yes." Amon said. "We will treat anyone who is injured."

"Do you know who—which planes were hit?"

"I'll get a report presently." She felt his hand between her shoulders. "I'm sure Hiroshi is fine."

Asami barely felt a wisp of a disappointment at his reassurance and she closed her eyes, not wanting to think about which possibility she preferred. She didn't want to think about the possibility at all.

"The worst is passing," Amon said. "There will be peace soon enough."

"Of course." _Dad wants violence. He wants this_. So had she, for a moment. Asami shifted, leaning a little against Amon as she looked back on the bleakness. "Will there be more of this?"

"Perhaps," Amon said. "It depends on how long it takes the rest of the United Republic and the other nations to recognize the Equalist government."

What was it he'd said to her in his office, back when he'd first rescued her from her father? _You'll be a powerful symbol, an inspiration to millions._ The vision she'd built from that was of her wearing a Future Industries uniform, poring over blueprints or demonstrating the model of some new device. She'd seen generic smiles on generic faces as the latest Sato innovation was accepted into homes. That was the inspiration she'd thought she'd give. This brief, brutal skirmish drove home what was really at stake; she couldn't stand by and wait for the situation to improve. "And that's why you want me to make speeches," she concluded.

"Yes."

Determination gathered, stiffening her spine. "Then I will."

"That's good to hear." Amon left the rail and Asami turned to follow him, putting the view of the bay behind her. "I am going to the arena in a few minutes. There will be another rally there today." "

You want me to say something there?" she asked, confused.

"No," he said. "If you're willing, I want you to visit Future Industries factory in the city and assess its condition and readiness."

"I don't—"

"Hiroshi will be at the mountain base for the rest of the day," Amon added tactfully.

Asami breathed out. "Then I'd be happy to do it."

He held out his hand. "There's an airship waiting for me. It can take you straight to the factory."

"Right now?" She'd never actually done an inspection before, she didn't even know what would be involved or what she needed—at least a clipboard, or a pen or something. But she didn't want to risk losing this opportunity and besides, she could probably find supplies in one of the offices in the factory's loft. She took Amon's hand and turned it into a hold on his arm while smiling up at him. "Sounds great."

Amon studied her for a few silent seconds. "You can return to your family's estate tomorrow as well," he said. He turned, extracting himself, and started leading her down the steps.

_Your family's estate _was another problem she preferred to keep at arm's length. Asami kept pace with Amon as they traveled down the dusty path. Her home was the place where Dad had been the head of Future Industries, where the Equalists had been someone else's distant nightmare. It didn't exist anymore. She didn't want to go back to the mansion if it meant buying into her father's delusion of normalcy and letting him think she was fine with everything that had happened between them.

And an unhappy intuition told her that her time with Amon would end once they returned to real life. "That soon?"

"If that's what you'd like."

He knew how she felt, probably better than anyone else, and there was no point in putting on a brave face. "No," she said. "Not with Dad there. It won't be the same."

"Then you don't have to go back there."

There was a meaningful weight to his words, recalling the way he'd invited her to the outpost, allowing a tentative hope to sprout in her. "Where else would I go?"

Amon glanced at her. "My home will be in the city center, close to City Hall."

There it was. Asami stopped in the middle of the path as the hope became a possibility resounding through her. Staying with him—it would be something permanent, a definite step to a new life. _No more guest rooms and stacks of luggage._ She would have somewhere to belong, a place without bad memories or false hopes. She'd be with him, he'd be there for her every night. "I think that would be wonderful," she said honestly. A happy, vibrant confidence spilled over inside her and she wound her arm around his again. She would help end the fighting, help bring Republic City the peace Amon wanted, and everything would be fine.

The last of the morning haze had burned away and the sun was bright and warm as they continued on. The tower was a column of pure white and the hovering airship looked innocuous, bits of surreal of art against the blue sky. The Lieutenant was waiting with Wen beside the wide stone steps that led up the tower's entrance.

Wen was shifting from foot to foot. "We're ready to go," the Lieutenant said to Amon.

"Good," said Amon. "Ms. Sato will be joining us on the airship and flying on to the city."

Wen looked between them. His fidgeting spread to his hands as he started plucking at the fingertips of his gloves. The Lieutenant nodded, still not acknowledging Asami. She ignored him right back. She was already thinking ahead to the factory—it felt like ages since she'd been there, and it would be nice to see it again. That part of her life was still mostly untainted.

"Amon, sir," Wen piped up. He hesitated as attention swung over to him, and then plowed ahead. "I wanted to ask you—or I thought maybe I'd see what Asami thought first—"

His eyes kept flicking to her. Asami felt an electrostatic tension building in Amon beside her and she let go of his arm, puzzled.

"It's about the rally and the—" Wen stumbled over his words and coughed.

The Lieutenant was studying Wen with narrowed eyes. "I think what you're saying is that you need to be relieved from rally duty." He glanced back at Amon, who nodded.

Wen's eyes widened. "I didn't mean—"

To Asami's surprise, the Lieutenant put a hand on his shoulder. "Go on back to your room, kid. Take the day off."

Wen recovered himself and bowed. He threw an apologetic look at Asami before turning to leave. She watched him go with a nagging feeling that she was missing something. Maybe Wen had just decided to air all his worries about the revolution, and he wanted her to back him up. _Not anymore. _She shook off the confusion and started following Amon up the first flight of steps.

"Amon!" This time the call came from a masked chi blocker jogging across the courtyard. She leapt up the steep steps two at a time, stopping just below their group. "We've got a sighting—"

"Hood off," the Lieutenant snapped. "You know the order."

"Right." The chi blocker grabbed the offending item and pulled it over her head. She bowed to Amon and gave Asami a little wave. "Hey, Asami."

"Maya. Hi." Asami wondered if she could get the other woman to come along to the factory with her. She was feeling sociable and it might be fun to have someone to talk to who wasn't as serious as Amon or full of anxiety like Wen. She wouldn't even mind the teasing.

The Lieutenant made a sound of disgust. "Report."

"We'll go on ahead," Amon broke in. His hand strayed to Asami's lower back. Maya lifted her eyebrows ever so slightly, an insignificant movement that only Asami understood. She had to press her lips against the smile that wanted to spread over her face.

Maya looked back at Amon, straight-faced and alert. "Orders were to deliver news about the Avatar straight to you."

"You heard me." Amon's palm pressed gently into Asami's spine as he spoke. "Let's go."

"Wait, what about the Avatar?" Asami resisted his urging and twisted around to look at Maya.

The gentle hand became an arm around her waist. "We are tracking her movements," Amon told her, guiding her up the steps again. Behind them she heard Maya saying something, but he went on. "Avatar Korra is stirring up counterrevolutionary activities."

But Maya had said 'sighting', like they'd been looking for someone. What had happened to Korra after the waterspout fell? Asami's skin prickled as they reached the tower's entrance and Amon hustled her through the archway.

The tower's first floor was an open, octagonal room with round pillars throughout and detailed frescoes of the ancient Air Temples along each wall. A dark blot of Equalist gear was piled beside the front door.

"The lines to the airship will be at the top of the tower." Amon pointed to a wooden staircase that led up to an opening in the ceiling and disappeared into the floor above.

Asami squirmed away from his hold. "What was Maya talking about? Are you looking for Korra?"

He made no move to get her back, instead pivoting to face her squarely. "Yes, we are," he said with taut impatience. "You saw her defending the fleet, Asami. She's a threat to the revolution."

"You said you'd leave her alone." His uptight attitude was starting to get to her. "Why didn't you tell me the truth?"

"I know you consider her a friend. Your loyalties are divided."

"I know, but you—" He'd told her last night that the Avatar would never listen to the Equalists and she hadn't argued about it then. She thought of Korra's latent anger in the park and the powerful waterbending this morning.

"You have to make a choice at some point, Asami," Amon added in a soft voice.

The room around them was quiet and bright and there was nothing here to remind her of the underground factory, _nothing_ in Amon to remind her of her father, so why did this moment make her think of that one? It felt like the same dilemma somehow. "I don't know."

Amon neared her. "You think you're betraying her, but in the end you'll be helping. This is necessary for equality." He seemed to have relaxed a little, and he sounded almost sympathetic. "Power corrupts everyone in the end."

It wasn't like the factory, Asami decided, because Amon wasn't pretending to be anything other than what he was. What had happened to her determination? She needed to shut off her feelings, stop clinging to that short time when she thought she was part of a team and thought that friends could make up for a family. She could care about Korra's well-being but it was unlikely that Korra would care about hers, not when they were on opposite sides. And she didn't want to keep going in circles with Amon.

Asami shrugged to herself and tossed out words without meaning. "You're right." Maybe she'd come to believe that eventually.

The door beside them yanked open, and the Lieutenant stopped in his tracks upon seeing them. Asami could see his eyes blink behind the green lenses and she was tempted to cling tightly to Amon just to make the man even more uncomfortable.

He recovered enough to step inside and close the door behind him. "Maya spotted two benders dressed as Equalists coming out of the water on the east side of the island. At least one is a waterbender."

_The uniforms, now they know about that too_. Asami reprimanded herself for feeling more uneasiness at the news. _I said I wouldn't argue. They have a right to look for enemies hiding among them._

"Thank you, Lieutenant," Amon said. "We can talk about the rest on the way to the arena."

The Lieutenant led the way toward the staircase. Amon directed Asami to follow, then followed closely behind her. She wondered again what was bringing on this unusual show of concern from him. Maybe the battle actually had affected him in some way after all.

The stairs followed the shape of the tower in staggered flights climbing up and around the inside walls. The higher floors were blocked off by a narrow hallway that enclosed the stairs, but Asami glimpsed a few rooms through open doors; mostly simple arrangements of benches, with scrolls hanging on the walls. At one point she spotted an indoor garden with a round pool in its center.

"One thing, before we meet the others in the airship." The Lieutenant spoke over his shoulder as they crossed landing on the top floor. "Wen's not the only one worried about using the airbenders at the rally. There's been—"

Asami halted. "What?"

The Lieutenant just looked down his nose at her. She felt as if the stairs were suspended over a void. She turned around, appealing to Amon. "I don't understand."

Her next question stuck in her throat, caught in a vise that matched the pressure of his arm around her shoulders. His voice overflowed in the small space. "The schedule will remain the same, Lieutenant. Go ahead to the airship, I need to speak to Ms. Sato alone." The Lieutenant lingered for a half-second before he nodded and disappeared around a bend. Amon began descending the stairs, holding Asami resolutely at his side.

It felt like the wind had been knocked out of her. _Airbenders, plural._ She tried to breathe through her nose—_Meelo tottering up one afternoon to give me a grubby flower_—she couldn't possibly fall apart now—_Tenzin just barely got away_…they reached the landing and Amon pushed the door open, hauling her into a small room with low tables. Blinding sunlight streamed through the windows.

_He has them, he has Tenzin's family. _Amon wasn't denying it, not denying having Tenzin or the children and he'd pulled her away to argue about it. Her disbelief swelled into a trembling outrage. She jerked away from his side. "You said they escaped."

"They did escape, and they were captured." Amon said it as if he was explaining yet another simple fact to her. "They are benders—"

"They're children!" she gasped. _Children who live in air as if the atmosphere is their joyful breath. Why didn't I ever ask why _they_ would need to run from the Equalists in the first place?_ Asami was stricken by the thought. But who would think to include them when talking about ending 'violence against non-benders'? That was supposed to be for criminals, for the Triads. "None of them would ever hurt a fly, not even Tenzin." She eyed him, backing away warily. "Don't pretend you don't know that."

"I am following our principles." Amon clasped his hands behind his back, unconcerned. "Bending in any form is a curse and an impurity and I will remove it from the world. The bender's element and age is irrelevant. This matter is no different than our search for the Avatar."

Asami recoiled. "Do you even hear yourself? What is wrong with you?"

Amon gave her an iron stare in response. His hands lowered to his sides. "Open your eyes, Asami. You've had a charmed life—" His voice was the roll of dark clouds over a plain.

"Just stop it," she spat. "I can't believe I listened to your insanity."

Her stomach dropped as she said it, because that was actually _true,_ she'd been struggling to appreciate this empty callousness, convincing herself that Amon's excuses meant something and made every awful thing he did okay.

"All you've ever wanted is to hurt people," she added, but the venom was gone from her words. _And all I'd wanted was to help him do that. _The clarity was shattering._ S_he'd wanted to believe him so much that it had taken this monstrous act to make her remember what Amon really was, to make her see the truth again. _My eyes are open all right. _

Shards of a deeper betrayal glittered somewhere close by but Asami couldn't even look at those let alone feel their sharpness. She hadn't lost anything because she'd never had it; the last three days were just a dream, a bad dream. She glared at Amon instead, wringing out more anger with bared teeth. "All this time you've been lying to me. You really are no better than my dad."

His shoulders rose and his hands clenched into fists as everything in Asami's chest seized.

And then the piercing clutch of cartilage and bone was gone, in less than a second, and her heart stuttered back into its rhythm. But in that instant, somehow all logic in this situation had fled, because now she was frozen, her muscles grinding together like locked gears as if she were in a nightmare after all. As Amon closed in she realized it was him, he was doing this to her._ But how_?

"I don't blame you." He was calm again, stopping just before her. Asami was sickened to think that she'd ever found comfort in his presence, but she couldn't speak to tell him so. He went on, oblivious to her struggle. "You can't know how important this is."

He wasn't even looking at her, just gazing somewhere over her head. "I'll find somewhere safe for you," he said absently, running a hand over her hair. "Just until you've had time to get used to things."

Sunlight was leaving spots on her vision, blocking everything except the pale and motionless mask. Her eyes settled on the satisfied little smile. _Is this what it's like when Amon takes your bending?_ It was a swift, vanishing notion.

"I'm sorry it had to happen this way." The words floated out on a regretful sigh. Asami couldn't tell if he was looking at her or past her anymore. "But…yes. You'll be fine with him. It will be for the best if you understand everything."

He was _still _so composed that it infuriated her, or maybe it was fear that was spinning through her head and leaving her dizzy. Asami knew she was in some kind of danger, and a distant alarm shrieked that she _had to do something_, _fight back, _but she felt his thumb brush down her neck—his promise yesterday, that had been another lie—and when her limbs loosened, all she could do was circle his wrist with one weak hand. She didn't know if she was fighting or pleading with him as the mask lifted out of view.

His lips moved as he leaned down, but_ I still care about you_ was a sound as far away as the explosions on the bay had been. The spots became a starry blackness painting over the false scar that she'd hated so much—turned out it was his real face after all and how could he have this effect on her after everything, it was—

Asami passed out.


	15. Chapter 15

Her nerves and muscles were hers again. There was a memory of restraint there, phantom tingles—but they were _only_ phantoms, and that awareness came with a whole-body sigh of relief.

The next breath she took brought a perfumed, musky pungency to her nose and she pushed herself up and away from the source—a folded cloth that had been under her head. Dark stains spotted the light blue fabric, and Asami made a face and rubbed the back of her hand over her cheek before looking around.

She wasn't surprised to see a row of vertical bars running from wall to wall, cornering her in a shadowed alcove of angled wooden walls. Across the room, wan light from the window lay over a cluster of crates, while the sloped walls met at a peak over a trapdoor in the middle of the floor. The whole room rang with the forgotten emptiness of an attic or loft.

She turned back to the cell, and discovered a man huddled against the wall with his head down. For a moment, just a moment, she thought he was—but no, she just had a cellmate this time. _This time_. "Hey."

Her companion lifted his head at her voice, revealing a long face of lines and hollows half-hidden stringy brown hair. "Where are we? What time is it?"

"The tower on Air Temple Island." He peered at the window and shrugged. "I don't have a watch, but he brought you here less than an hour ago."

The confrontation with Amon returned to her with fresh intensity. "Who did? Amon?" He nodded.

"He did this," she breathed, closing her eyes. Poisonous disappointment seized her, almost as paralyzing as whatever he'd done to her. "He put me away." The memory of their fight—if she could call it that—was crowded round by others: the battle in the bay, the tower, Wen, the airbenders...and through it all, Amon, standing close to her, holding her arm, smiling at her...

"For what it's worth, he was considerate about it," the man said. He indicated her makeshift pillow. "He made me give you my coat."

Asami looked at the stained cloth and resisted the impulse to clean her face again. "Oh. Thank you." She held it out. "You can have it back now." He rolled his eyes before rising.

He looked even worse standing, frail and stooped, but the stockings sagging down his calves were silk and the wrinkled clothes hanging off his frame were a sophisticated style. He bent took the coat, flapping it out before sticking his arms through the wide—and familiar—sleeves. He turned around and Asami saw his hair was still partly tied back in a ponytail, fraying out of thick blue bands.

When he sat, she looked hard at his face. "Councilman Tarrlok."

"Yes." Tarrlok flopped himself back against the wall. "I'm sorry to meet you under these circumstances, Ms. Sato."

Asami felt deeply insulted that Amon would put her in with the likes of _Tarrlok_. "What are _you_ doing here?"

"Being a prisoner, the same as you."

Asami scowled and turned away. "I don't believe this." Sourness roiled through her. It had to be some sick joke, making her share a cell with the oily, corrupt councilman. Amon had lied to her, used her and now he was telling her how little he thought of her.

_Whatever. _She drew her knees to her chest. _It wasn't like you were in love or anything_.

She could feel Tarrlok's eyes on her. "I know how you must be feeling right about now," he began. "But whatever went on between you—"

His voice was low, heavy with fatigue, but Asami recognized the feint in those words—it was like the police station; he was circling her, hunting for information and testing for weaknesses. _And wouldn't he just love what you could give him now?_ She pursed her lips with skepticism. "How would _you_ know how I'm feeling?"

Tarrlok ran a hand down his face and sighed. "Let me start again. How much do you know about Amon?"

"None of your business." Asami climbed to her feet and dusted herself off, then fussed with her hair. She found the door to the cell. It was secured with a thick, padlocked chain, but she rattled it anyway.

Tarrlok spoke behind her. "You realize that's an answer in itself, don't you?"

He was digging, waiting for her to give something away. Asami tightened her fingers around the bar until her knuckles turned white and clenched her jaw. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Do I really need to say it?"

"Go to hell." Her face burned and bile clawed at her insides. Of all the people in the world to be trapped with after what Amon had done...

"You didn't let me finish," Tarrlok said behind her. "I'm saying that when Amon brought you here, he was concerned about your wellbeing. Despite how this looks, whatever went on between you two before—I believe he would have meant his actions sincerely."

_Whatever went on between you two_. Asami let her forehead rest against the obstinate bars, cool solidity against her skin. _Lies and more lies, that's what. _"What do you care?"

"Because..." Tarrlok spoke with the care of someone edging around a pit. "Amon isolated me for certain reasons. Since you're here with me, I can only assume that the same is true—well, mostly true—for you."

Asami grimaced. Now Tarrlok was _comparing_ himself to her. "Ugh." She glared at the sad pile of crates before turning around. "Reasons like what?" She crossed her arms and leaned back, propping a foot on the bars, and raised an eyebrow at him. "I didn't kidnap the Avatar."

Tarrlok closed his eyes and exhaled slowly. "Not that. I'm here because I know Amon's past—his real past—and because I…matter to him in a particular way.

His caginess rubbed her the wrong way. "What's your point? What do you know?"

"Ms. Sato," Tarrlok said, then stopped. He looked up as if searching for words. "Neither of us are in a good situation here but you should know that the more you learn about Amon, the less likely it is he will allow you any kind of freedom beyond this room."

The suggestion gave her pause. She did know something about Amon, didn't she? She could tell everyone that his big tragic past and firebender's scar were a lie. _What would Dad think of that?_

Tarrlok was right, Amon would have thought of the same thing long ago._ He'll never let me go_, she thought and a shiver ran through her. Asami rubbed her arms, reassuring herself that they were still under her control and the dread became a blaze of anger. How dare he treat her like this, like a doll he could just stash away in a box?

She flicked her fingers carelessly, not bothering to uncross her arms. "I already know Amon's lying about his past," she said. "He wears a fake scar under the mask, and I know what he looks like underneath it—" _and what he looks like when he's asleep, and when he's just woken up. I know he has dimples and his eyes crinkle just a bit when he smiles. I know he likes my hair and we had so little time together but—_she knew an ocean of things and the waves were closing over her head. Tarrlok was probably filing every word away to use against her later. "And he's told me he has a brother somewhere," she hedged. "Your turn."

"That brother is me."

It was too solemn and straightforward to be a joke or a lie. Asami's arms dropped. "What?" For a moment her mind went blank, and then questions began multiplying, climbing over each other to be asked. "Are you serious? How is that possible? Have you been working together this whole time? Are you an Equalist? Is that why you kidnapped Korra?"

"No." Tarrlok sat up, looking offended. "Avatar Korra confronted me in my office and…things got out of hand. I reacted badly. Amon had nothing to do with it."

"But then why are you here? Did you know who Amon was? Did he tell you?"

Tarrlok held up a hand for silence. "Until two days ago I thought he was dead. He ran away from home when we were boys." He dropped his hand and slung his arms over his knees. His thin mouth twitched to one side. "You've heard of Yakone?"

The odd question threw her. "What? Yeah. A little." She picked through the clutter of vague history left by tutoring lessons. "He was a Triad boss in Republic City. A b—" Her voice left her. _Bloodbender._ _Yakone the Bloodbender_.

Bloodbending was nearly a myth, you never really heard of anyone doing it for real, but it slithered over what Amon had done to her and fit perfectly. "He was a bloodbender," she said. Her breath came shallow and fast. Had Amon really used _bloodbending_ on her? He'd done it like it was nothing...

Tarrlok went on laying out the bones of his past as she fought to get herself under control. _Avatar Aang took his bending, he escaped and settled in the North. Married, two sons, waterbenders,_ _bloodbenders. _Asami tried to keep up, tried not to think of how easily he'd held her immobilized, _he had my heart in his hands and he could have just squeezed_...Amon was a bloodbender raised to destroy the Avatar, and so was Tarrlok. The rest of her _whys _and _hows_ were lost in the blizzard of revelations. _His name is Noatak. _It sounded wrong somehow, cracked and splintered—it didn't fit him like the solid roundness of _Amon_, assured, warm—_stop thinking about it. _She swallowed and pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead. "Um…so, he's your younger brother."

Tarrlok looked offended. "Noatak is older than me by three years, Ms. Sato."

"He is? So he's…?"

"Forty. I'm thirty-seven."

_Forty? _It should have been nothing in light of everything else, but it made Asami sink down at last, folding her legs beneath her. "Amon's _forty_, he's your brother, he's a bender, a _bloodbender_…"

She stared at a patch of sun past the bars. _I knew he was older, just like I knew he wanted to get rid of bending, and I didn't care. _The light blurred into bright nothing. "I had no idea. About any of it."

"Don't blame yourself," Tarrlok said. "He's hidden it well. I didn't even recognize him until he took my bending."

He would have lost his bending when the Equalists caught him. Asami glanced sidelong at Tarrlok. "That must have been awful," she offered.

"I deserved it, considering what I'd done." He said it with flat indifference, a tone contradicted by his constricting posture that screwed up tighter with each word. His fingers dug into his hair. "I meant to be better than Yakone, and instead I ended up just like him."

He looked wretched, near collapse. Asami thought of Hiroshi, cursing her, calling her _traitor _and _ungrateful_. "He sounds like a terrible father," she said. "You don't deserve this."

Tarrlok looked only slightly less unhappy. Asami was anxious to get away from the topic for both their sakes. "But Amon…he's a complete hypocrite. All this time he's talked about how bad benders are and how they abuse their powers, and he's the worst of them all."

"No." Tarrlok stared at his hands, flexing his fingers. "Underneath it all, Noatak cares about—about protecting people. I think he really does want to make the world equal."

"How?" Asami scoffed and swept a hand around. "By locking up his family? By bombing the city. By kidnapping the Air Nomads?"

Tarrlok looked up, inhaling sharply. "Tenzin's family? I didn't know—"

"He's going after Korra too." _And they're looking for her in an Equalist disguise because _I_ warned Amon about it._ She dropped her head into her hands. "I think...I think I helped him find her."

"On purpose? Your friends insisted you'd been kidnapped, but Noatak's attitude did make me wonder…" Tarrlok raised his eyebrows, despair temporarily forgotten.

_Just when I was feeling sorry for you. _"Not on purpose," Asami snapped. "I mean—I did join, but it was after _you _made the curfew for non-benders and tried to steal my family's company."

Tarrlok tilted his head. "And as I recall," he said, leaning back against the wall and closing his eyes, "the latter was a perfectly legal action which was taken due to suspicion of you being an Equalist, just before you gave the police falsified information about one of their hideouts and disappeared." He opened his eyes, and looked at her coolly. "And then you reappeared at Amon's side. Do I have that right Ms. Sato?"

A swell of indignation lifted her; she wasn't going to let Tarrlok bully her, not again. "Alright so I did lie about the Equalists, and I did go with them after your interrogation. Guess what, even the Equalists are better than _you._"

The superiority slid from Tarrlok's face like water. Asami watched uncertainly as he turned his head aside. "You're right. I'm sorry."

She wavered between feeling sorry for him again and feeling cheated by the apology. "I did end up joining them in the end," she pushed. "It actually seemed like a good idea since—" She faltered as the thread of reasoning went beyond her grasp. Tarrlok had to understand he'd been wrong about her, but...he hadn't been, really. She'd gone along with Amon one step at a time, and only allowed herself to call it wrong when he turned on her.

_Why _was she defending herself to Tarrlok at all? "I thought the Equalists wanted to help people," she said. "Amon said I could help fix what Dad had done and I'd be better, more balanced at his job. I thought I'd make a difference."

Tarrlok covered his eyes and mumbled, "Welcome to the club."

She pressed on, rambling now. "But I don't want everyone to lose their bending, and I didn't really think he meant it. I was just worried about Dad and I wanted to trust him. Amon, I mean."

"He wouldn't be leading the Equalists if he couldn't get people to trust him." Tarrlok looked her over and shook his head. "What _was_ he thinking?"

The words lodged in her chest, prickly and painful because there was no doubt what he meant this time. Tears climbed to her eyes again. "Good question." She wished she had someone, _anyone,_ else here that she could lean on. Bolin, or even Korra. _Or Amon. _The reckless thought raced through her before she could stop it. Of she didn't want him here, she _hated _him, but of everyone she'd known he'd been so—

"What I was saying before," Tarrlok said, mercifully breaking into her thoughts, "is that this might seem like he's turned against you but he hasn't. He cares for you, in his own way." He gave a weak laugh. "He was insistent that I 'go easy' on you."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

"I didn't say I agreed to it," Tarrlok said with a shrug. The conversation seemed to be keeping him out of his gloom. "But I think it helps, to know he doesn't mean to hurt you."

It didn't help; in fact she hated hearing it, hated the suggestion spreading like dye and corrupting her thoughts. Pure fury was all she should need to feel toward Amon. _Whatever went on between you two. _She drew in a shaky breath. "It doesn't matter." She repeated it to herself a few times. _It doesn't, it really doesn't. _"It's all over. I'm done with Equalists." She clenched her fists. "And when he comes back here I'm going to—"

"He'll just bloodbend you again," said Tarrlok. "He's the most powerful bender I've ever known, and that includes Avatar Korra. There's no fighting him."

Her skin crawled at the helplessness of that matter-of-fact statment. She jumped up. "Then I need to get out of here. I'll tell everyone what he really is." She started working on the chain holding the door shut again. _Why _was she always trapped somewhere? She needed to help warn people and stop Amon. _I have to, don't I?_

"Noatak wouldn't put us anywhere we could escape from easily," Tarrlok said. He raised his voice a little to be heard over the clinking metal. "Even if you did get out, why would anyone believe you? You have no proof."

Asami stopped. She faced Tarrlok with her hands on her hips. "So what do you suggest?"

"Nothing. There's nothing we can do." A trace of sympathy sifted through his resigned demeanor. "If Amon defeats Korra, then it's unlikely this war will end anytime soon. And if the Equalists lose, we'll both be arrested anyway—you for being an Equalist and me for bloodbending."

"I know all that." She could feel defeat surrounding her, closing in. "But I can't let him get away with this."

The back of Tarrlok's head thumped against the wall. "Amon has the whole city in the palm of his hand," he said. "Do you _really _think one angry girl is going to cause him any difficulty?"

The lofty condescension in his face reminded her of Amon's sculpted arrogance, superior, certain and impossible to argue with. "No," Asami said tightly. "I guess not." She looked around, but there was nowhere to storm off to. She lowered herself to the floor again.

The limp daylight had warmed into amber as they'd talked. The afternoon was getting on and the rally had probably started. _And now the Equalists really might have Korra, and Mako_. "How am I supposed to live with this?" she wondered aloud. "I didn't want any of it, but Dad was sick and there was no time…and I even told him I wouldn't join at first—" _And I then was so alone and then Amon was there and… _"And things changed…I was wrong, but I had no idea how far they would go—"

She wrapped her arms around her legs and tucked her chin into her knees. "All these things just happened at once. I didn't know what to do."

"I shouldn't have pushed you in the police station." Tarrlok was back to sincere humility again.

"I still chose to go with them." _And I chose to be with Amon._ "And I thought it was fine for Amon to take bending. From some people."

She couldn't admit it to Tarrlok but she still thought that way, because as hollow as Equality seemed now, parts of Amon's rhetoric had sunk deep. She hated so much of it, but she still couldn't feel sorry for all the criminals who'd lost their bending, and she didn't feel any less offended by the curfew.

She tried not to think about Amon, and failed. He would tell everyone else about this incident in that mesmerizing voice of his, and they'd all accept it. _Hiroshi was right; Ms. Sato needed to be locked up for her own good. _Her father would probably thank him with tears in his eyes

Tarrlok shook his head. "You're young, you're…a good person. Don't let some hardships and setbacks distort that. Don't let it lead you down the wrong path."

Asami traced a seam in her jacket with her fingernail. "I think I'm pretty far down that road anyway."

"It's not too late for you," he insisted.

Asami didn't respond. He was saying one thing, but she saw another option written in Tarrlok's demeanor. _Give in. _Give in, accept that Amon had won, bury her ire until it was smothered and gone and just be _with_ him like she'd wanted up until a few hours ago. It wouldn't be easy, but Tarrlok had suffered worse and he didn't seem to hate Amon for anything he'd done. She'd been so ready to believe in his ideals of equality; and if she could get him to back down from the worst of it—though now she knew he'd rather bloodbend her than hear her objections...

Faint, high streaks of sound from outside caught her ears. Tarrlok came back to life, cocking his head to listen. They exchanged glances. "What do you think it is?" Asami said.

"I don't know. It sounds like the machines from this morning."

"Dad's planes," said Asami. "They must be going for the rest of the United Republic's fleet." She thought of the red and orange explosions and the ruins of this morning's skirmish in the bay. "Amon can't really take over the world, can he?"

"He thinks he can." Tarrlok didn't seem interested in discussing it further. Asami was left alone to her thoughts as the noise faded away.

She couldn't just forgive Amon for what he was about to do—_maybe what he's already done_—and there was no getting past the bloodbending, or the outright lie about _listening _to her. But so much of the world had turned against her, and maybe she wasn't as good a person as Tarrlok thought. She couldn't stop the Equalist crusade, she couldn't stop the planes and bombs and the mecha tanks. Did it matter whether she stayed or left?

A _crack_ behind her was loud enough to make her jump. She followed Tarrlok's gaze and twisted around to watch the trapdoor as it rose.

Amon appeared through the opening. He released the door at the top of its arc and it thumped backward to the floor as he rose. His hood was down and, as he climbed further, Asami saw it was because he'd taken off the gray coat. The evening light wrapped around him when he stood, falling on his bare face. She looked him over, searching; the mask was never far from him but she couldn't see it anywhere. The scar was gone too, along with all the armor trimmings that announced _Amon_.

He came to the cell. _Noatak, _Asami thought. The black hair, the heavy eyebrows, the downturned mouth and the narrowed eyes going from her to Tarrlok: they all belonged to someone named Noatak_. _

"There's trouble," he said.

"What kind of trouble?" asked Tarrlok.

Amon's mouth twisted. "The Avatar. I took her bending, but she was still able to airbend. I was forced to…stop her, on stage. It did not look good."

_Korra can airbend. _Guilty relief trickled through her.

Tarrlok was more severe. "You mean you bloodbent her."

"Yes." The word was a gust of breath. "Yes Tarrlok, that's what happened." His hand dipped into a pocket and came out with a key.

"Did she get away?"

He didn't look up from the padlock, but she could see the stormy expression pass over his face. The heavy chain slid to the floor. "Yes, along with the other airbenders."

"Good," Asami said without thinking, but Amon barely gave her a glance before walking to Tarrlok. "The situation at the arena is still chaotic, but people will be searching for me. For now—" He crouched down in front of Tarrlok. "I can't risk leaving you here."

Tarrlok lifted his eyes to his brother's face. He said something in a quiet voice. Amon took his elbow and leaned forward. Asami could barely make out the word _please. _Tarrlok looked down; after a moment he rose, shrugging off his brother's solicitous hand, and plodded to the door. His eyes flicked over to Asami as he passed her, so quickly that it might have been a nervous twitch.

Amon turned to her and Asami glowered back in spiteful defiance. She felt like an outsider with the two of them and the indifferent treatment _hurt _despite her best efforts to not care. Amon deserved to feel _something_ that matched the tempest he'd abandoned her to. "You lied to me."

A line appeared between his eyebrows. "It's not safe here," he said. "I need to take you both someplace else."

"Another prison, you mean."

The line deepened and he looked aside. "No. Maybe." His hair was falling over his forehead and there were remnants of paint beneath his jaw. Faint scrapes of dust and dirt were visible over the left side of his body, and his boots were skidded with dust along the soles. He turned to Tarrlok. "She knows?"

"Everything," Tarrlok said as Asami chimed in with, "I'm right here."

"Fine." He went back to considering her. They were losing the light and it was hard to read his face, but Amon was looming over her like he'd stood over the woman outside the tower—_taking her bending, letting her fall_. Asami climbed to her feet.

"Noatak…" Tarrlok sounded uneasy behind him. "We can leave her. No one will listen to anything she says."

"No," Amon replied, still studying Asami. She refused to back away and she held tight to her anger, but nervousness kept skittering across her throughts. She'd faced Hiroshi like this when he freed her from another cell and Amon was already in a bad mood; he'd been through a fight and he had to be upset that the rally had gone wrong and there was another way to manage the 'risk' she presented, one that would take very little effort from a bloodbender; he wouldn't miss her, no one would...

His arm moved and she flinched—

Amon held out his hand. "I know you're upset. But the Avatar is not your friend, whether you believe it or not. Come with me, Asami. Nothing has to change." The words were plain and artless, and his eyes weren't quite meeting hers.

Asami hesitated, puzzled by a sudden sense that she had the upper hand, that her fear was out of place in the moment. Amon didn't seem particularly weak or injured, but she felt like, right now, she could make him collapse with just a gentle push. Past him, Tarrlok gave her another meaningful look. _You see? _

All at once she understood what he'd been trying to say. Amon wasn't going to hurt her. As dangerous and as pitiless as he was, she had nothing to fear from him because he really did care about her. Maybe even _needed_ her.

She knew the feeling.

Asami's defensive tension dissolved like paper in water. Some incensed part of her mind demanded that she knock him down anyway and _run. _The rest of her wanted to fall into his arms and start over at the beginning.

She placed her fingers in his and received the barest shadow of a sigh and a smile in return, before Noatak pushed his hair back with his free hand and returned to businesslike briskness. "Let's go."

* * *

The stars were coming out by the time Noatak finished checking the boat. He tossed a flashlight to Tarrlok before starting the engine and Asami felt a twinge of envy as he pushed off from the dock and maneuvered out onto the water. She sighed.

"Regrets?" Tarrlok murmured. It was the first thing he'd said to her since they'd left the tower. She got the feeling he was disappointed with her. Maybe he'd just wanted to be alone with his brother.

She shook her head. "No. Just…missing stuff. Freedom."

A fitful breeze toyed with her hair as the boat gathered speed, heading toward the sea. Noatak finished his work on the steering wheel and stood on the pilot's chair, then stepped over the side of the boat. He disappeared into the churning water.

Asami barely had time to be upset before a whirlpool opened in the space where the boat had been moored, just below where she stood with Tarrlok on the dock. In a moment, the minor cataclysm resolved into Noatak on rocky sand, holding the water away from himself with open arms. He was completely dry.

"Come on," he said. He jerked his head impatiently, as if they were running late for the theater.

It was only a few meters to the ground. Tarrlok helped Asami clamber down and tossed the flashlight to her before following. When she passed it back to him Noatak spoke. "Wait until we're underwater. I don't want to attract attention."

They'd evaded the few Equalists left on the island, but the airships were making passes overhead with spotlights prowling the water. Asami didn't want to think what would mean if they were caught. Noatak seemed confident that he wouldn't be recognized, but she and Tarrlok had no way of hiding their identities.

At least the speedboat made for a good decoy, although when Noatak said he'd take them across the bay himself she hadn't realized he meant a literal underwater hike, where her boots sank into wet sand and slipped on unsteady rocks while death by drowning hovered all around her.

The ground became a steep slope, leading them further down, and Noatak allowed the waters to join over their heads. The faint light given by the moon vanished. Tarrlok clicked the flashlight on, training it ahead, though there was little to see in the shifting darkness. Noatak traced smooth arcs as he strolled ahead of them, the motions repeating in soft shadows on the walls. The sight of _Amon_ bending should have filled her with bitterness, but he looked so utterly at ease doing it that it seemed only natural.

"I've been thinking," Noatak said, breaking the silence. "I need to make an appearance as soon as possible to restore peace and clear up this mess and both of you can help. We'll say the Avatar was responsible for the incident."

Asami and Tarrlok shared a look of alarm. Noatak went on, oblivious to their consternation. "I'll collect my things myself after I drop you two off, and find the Lieutenant. The Avatar isn't known for her strategic ability, but I can say that she had help planning out the charade. Her firebender friend, or maybe her mentor. She's gifted and she's Water Tribe, so the idea that she's a bloodbender will be easy for people to believe. Once I get things stabilized, Tarrlok can confirm it as a fellow bloodbender—you can even say it's why you had to bloodbend _her_—and Asami will publicly share her personal experience with the Avatar's unstable temperament."

Asami stared, open-mouthed, marveling at the incredible assumptions contained within his plan. She struggled to form an acceptable response that didn't include the words 'liar' or 'hypocrite.'

Tarrlok only sighed. "That's asking a lot, Noatak."

"Would you rather stay in a cell forever Tarrlok?" Noatak sounded genuinely curious.

"I'm just saying—" Tarrlok took a deep breath and straightened a little from his stoop. "Maybe it's for the best that this happened. You could let this be the end." His eyes locked on the back of his brother's head, cautious and barely hopeful.

Asami was close enough to see Noatak's jaw tighten, and their underwater world seemed to grow smaller. She edged away from the wall of the bubble. He might not be inclined to hurt them but he was holding tons of water over their heads and now was not the time to start an argument. "No," she said. "We can do it."

Tarrlok blinked at her and she gave him an encouraging smile. _You're the politician, you think of a way out of this_. But he only furrowed his brow and shook his head slowly.

"Good," said Noatak. The pressure eased and they kept moving forward, but Tarrlok went back to staring at the ground. Asami felt deserted, and resented his dull pessimism. She was trying to do what was best, couldn't he see that?

Silence returned, broken only by the rippling sounds of water being pushed and pulled around them. She watched Noatak's back, and then his arms and shoulders as they moved, her thoughts turning over like cards. _I can't say those things about Korra. He's insane. Tarrlok looks ready to kill himself. What's going to happen to the city? The plan could really work. What else can he do with waterbending?_

There was no arrangement of ideas that offered a solution. Asami found only two constants: that she wanted him, and that there was no having him without the revolution. Amon or Noatak, mask or not, he could not be parted from the cause or would not be easily diverted from its violence.

Crossing Yue Bay on foot soon became tedious but her stomach still knotted with dismay when a wide, algae-coated pillar materialized out of the murk ahead, indicating that they were nearing the shore. Shadows of other pillars were spaced in intervals beyond, leading onward to the port. They brushed through seaweed streamers, passing under the piers and walking parallel to the shoreline until Noatak found a gentle slope that let them climb out on a nearby beach.

They stood close in the darkness, and Asami wrapped her arms around herself. The trek had been dry but the only heat underwater had come from themselves, and the temperature on shore wasn't much higher. "I keep a studio above the fish market," Noatak told them. "It's not furnished, but it should do for you both."

Tarrlok had retreated completely into himself. Noatak squeezed his shoulder. "I'm sorry to keep moving you brother, but you'll just need to stay hidden for the night. This is only a setback. Things will be back to normal soon."

The breeze was stronger now, fluttering their clothes._ Normal._ Asami wanted to laugh at the idea, and to cry.

She masked her reaction with a smile, though it did nothing to quell the restive tremor that had started under her skin. "I know where we can get transportation," she said. "There's a locker near the dock for the Air Temple ferry. I've got a moped. You can use it, or Tarrlok and I can take it to the studio."

She could feel Noatak's smile as he kissed her forehead. His hand drifted down her arm. "Just lead the way."

When they found the small building, he used some complicated trick with water and ice to make the lock pop open. Asami ducked under the door as he lifted it and tugged the string for the overhead bulb. Shadows sprang up under the weak light, covering the walls and floor.

She weaved through the abandoned rubbish to reach her moped and patted the handlebars before prying up the seat. She found the electrified glove nestled in the compartment, just as she'd left it. She bounced it in her hand and offered it up to Noatak as he came to her side. "In case we're found. Neither of us will be much good against a bender. Or a group of chi blockers."

Noatak nodded in approval, and then gave her an odd look. "What's wrong?"

Asami breathed in. "I don't _like_ this," she said. "I don't like not having a real place to stay, and not knowing what's happening with the Equalists." She meant every word of it. "I don't think Tarrlok's doing well, either."

Noatak half-turned to look at Tarrlok, who was already slouched against the wall. "He's just tired," he said, turning back to her with a frown. He lowered his voice. "He's been like this for a while. Keep an eye on him."

"Of course I will." Asami took a tiny step closer to Noatak, and another, until she was nearly touching him. She tried not to think of the last time he'd been so near to her and how helpless she'd been. _That won't happen again, he doesn't have any reason for it now. _

She focused on the times before that, the times when she'd held on to him of her own accord and been grateful. They came back to her naturally. "You be careful too," she whispered. Her heart thudded against her ribcage, erratic and confused, as she pressed close and kissed him on the lips.

She might have felt a tingle there when she slapped her palm against his arm and dug her fingers in. Incandescent light wreathed her forearm and crazed the air, burning bright and saving her from the look on his face. She held on as he jolted back, and held on as he went down until fingers clawed into her elbow, yanking it back, and her fingertips slipped from the contact plates in the glove. As the electricity died she heard "—enough Asami, stop, that's enough." Tarrlok pushed past her, kneeling in the cramped space and putting his fingers to Noatak's neck.

Asami curled the glove into a fist. Bright spots traced lazy circles over her field of vision, moving like Noatak's hands as he'd shaped the water. Past them, she saw Tarrlok sit back with his hands on his thighs. "He's alive." He leaned over again and started shifting Noatak's unresponsive form until he was lying flat, and finished by arranging his hands at his sides with care.

Compassion welled up through her daze. She'd come close to killing all that was left of Tarrlok's family. "I'm sorry."

Tarrlok's eyes stayed on Noatak but he said, "Don't be. It had to be done."

His dismal tone made her ache. It had been easier with her father; she got to escape then, didn't have to stand there and witness the aftermath of her necessary cruelty. Asami looked away, blinking into the blue night. She could see the shape of the near future, and it was a thorny mess. This had only been the first trial, and probably the easiest.

And now she was alone again, with no promise of warm affection to make the ordeal bearable. She felt like lying down next to Noatak like a heroine in a tragedy. Maybe she would do it just for warmth; the cold was getting to her. Or she could take Tarrlok out while his back was turned and wait for Noatak to come around. She'd betrayed him, but he'd betrayed her first. They were even now.

She opened her hand and shook the glove off, letting it fall to the dusty cement. "I know."


	16. Chapter 16

_Was It True Love After All? _

The words bunched together under her fingers.

"I can't read it like that, Ms. Sato."

Asami breathed in and fought down the desire to crumple the whole paper and shred it to bits, the way she'd done with the first copy. She opened her hand and smoothed the creases under her palm before sliding it over to Tarrlok. "I thought they'd given up on this," she said.

"It's a tabloid; they live for this kind of nonsense," said Tarrlok airily. "Let's see." The paper rustled as he folded it over again so he could lift it between his cuffed hands. "'A former Equalist shares her side of the story,'" he read. "'An anonymous source who was close to Asami Sato—" He stopped and looked at her over the top of the paper. "Really, you think _this_ is upsetting? 'Anonymous source'? It's made-up tripe." He tilted it toward her. "Look, it's not even on the front page."

"I know, but it's—" Asami glanced at the guard standing at attention less than meter away. She didn't have Tarrlok's knack for this elliptical small talk, saying one thing and meaning another. "It's insulting. And bad for the company's image right before we re-open the factory."

Her indignation was already draining into the usual resignation. She propped her cheek on one hand. "My public relations manager said it was 'seedy', and he's right." She sighed. "Things are bad enough, nobody wants to buy a Satomobile now thanks to Dad. Why do they have to focus on _this_?" She waved her free hand at the paper.

"The war is old news, and so is Amon." Tarrlok finished skimming the article and set the tabloid down. "The lizard crows at the papers are down to picking over scraps."

"Well those scraps are affecting my company," said Asami. "And my life."

Tarrlok folded his hands and affected a sorrowful mien. "As always, I am deeply sorry for getting you into this mess."

Asami eyed him. Half the time, she suspected Tarrlok was laughing at her problems. After all, they were just "the woes of a young heiress" (as another tabloid had put it).

But that thought was better than her sense that Tarrlok's high-handed attitude was actually feigned, that his real state of mind lay in the lank hair that fell over his shoulders and the drab, fraying attire that swamped him. She leaned forward, making a show of seeking his advice in earnest. "Do you think I should respond?"

"Of course not. That will just encourage them." He raised an eyebrow. "They aren't worth your time. _You_ know the truth, and that's what matters."

_Yeah, right. _"But when will it end? I can't keep reading this stuff."

Tarrlok leaned on his elbows and steepled his fingers. "It will never end. The rest of your life, Ms. Sato, you'll be living with dual truths: what the public chooses to believe, and what you know. Just don't get them confused."

"Of course. You're right." Asami put her teeth into her smile. The patronizing tone, real or an act, made it hard for her to feel purely sympathetic toward Tarrlok. _How would you like to be a spy for the Anti-Equalist Task Force? _She _should _have knocked him out in that locker. "Thank you for the advice."

"My pleasure." He folded his hands and sat forward with a gossipy interest. "So—any new leads?"

"No." She forced disgust into the word, trying to sound like she felt like everyone else did, about the United Forces' failure to find the terrorist Amon. "Nothing."

Tarrlok shrugged. "Oh well." Whatever real disappointment he might feel was hidden even from her.

Asami studied her hands, curled on the dull tabletop, and sized up the guard out of the corner of her eye. The young woman looked bored, but she still had a plated uniform and police-issue metalbending cords snaking down her arm.

She should stick to small talk and keep up the agreed-upon façade...but this latest article only brought a gnawing question back to her, and Tarrlok was the only person whose opinion would mean anything. "I've been wondering," she said, still staring down. "Do you think I should have killed him?"

She glanced up to Tarrlok as his eyes widened. A jerk of his hands made the cuffs clink against the table and he slid back, pressing against the back of the chair as if trying to escape the question. "Don't ask me," he said. He shook his head, and closed his eyes. "Don't."

She'd hit something raw there, verging on dangerous if she pushed too hard. But the guard was still staring straight ahead and didn't seem any more interested in their conversation. Asami's thoughts drew themselves out, inevitable. "I just think I should have done more, and maybe...I was too kind, maybe it would have been better if..."

Tarrlok rubbed his cheek. His face was drawn and his brisk air of confidence had died. "I'm no moral paragon that can say yes or no to that kind of question. It's really the kind of thing you should bring up with someone like Tenzin."

"That's a good idea. I will." She wouldn't.

"You couldn't have known that Amon would escape."

_We both knew he would._ "Of course."

"And of course...execution will be on the table should they capture him again." Asami heard the catch in his voice.

Her heart sank. There was always a point in these monitored encounters where she and Tarrlok both remembered they shared a single flimsy life raft in a pitiless ocean; that all the morals and condemnations that had come so easily that night had only been strong enough to stop Amon and nothing more. Together, they had tacitly allowed Noatak to escape, leaving an unstable psychic bloodbender free in the world.

Together, they had betrayed Noatak and then saved his life.

Her chair scraped back with a short screech. "I should get going. Korra's arriving from the South Pole today, and I still have to talk to my employees before the factory opens tomorrow."

"Certainly. I don't want to keep you." Tarrlok smoothed over like sand. He pursed his lips thoughtfully as she stood. "A little more time might distance your company from the Equalists in the public mind."

Asami took her time refolding the tabloid before sliding it into her purse. "It's already happening. I'll be fine, don't worry."

He pointed at the purse. "Be sure to read that. You'll want to know what they're saying, no matter how...trivial and insulting." He left the second half of the directive unspoken. _Know what they're saying so you can keep your story straight, every time you have to tell it. Never contradict what was officially reported._

"If you say so."

"Remember, you don't have to accept whatever insipid romance novel they're trying to peddle. Just stay on top of what the public's truth is every day. Maybe you can even make the story work for you."

"_Thank _you, Tarrlok." Asami wasn't sure which was worse, being friendless or having your only friend be Tarrlok.

Tarrlok lifted his hands. "Thank you for visiting. It's always good to hear what's going on in the world."

There was no insincerity in his voice this time. Asami suspected she was the only person who came to see him. "It's the least I could do."

They were at the door when he spoke again. "Asami—" She turned back, and was surprised to see him looking smaller in his seat. "If you do happen see Avatar Korra..." He lowered his head. "Please give her my sincere apologies."

"Do you want to see her?" Asami asked. "I'm sure she'd visit."

Tarrlok looked up at her with a start but quickly switched his gaze to his fingers, lacing and unlacing atop the metal table. "If she would care to, I would appreciate it. But please tell her I'm sorry."

"I will," Asami promised.

She let the guard escort her out of the bare, cold room. She felt bad for Tarrlok, but she still couldn't quite feel _guilty. _He didn't seem to be suffering in Republic City's prison any more than he had been under Amon's care. And he'd chosen it, chosen to turn himself in and accept the sentence rather than run. _I'm staying for my own reasons. You can benefit from it if you choose._

She'd made her own choice then. It hadn't been hard.

And the result was mostly the truth. Mostly.

The narrow waiting room had a row of shabby chairs against the wall, all of them occupied. Worried mothers and fathers, tearful spouses and dutiful children, knitting and reading, dabbing at their eyes and shifting in their seats as they all waited their chance to see their loved ones for just a few minutes.

The matronly woman behind the desk took Asami's visitor's badge, and hesitated.

Asami braced herself. "You don't want to see anyone else?"

The doubtful judgment in her voice made it hard for Asami to keep her reply level. "No, thank you."

The officer slid a clipboard to her and Asami signed her full name. The pen scratched through the paper along the first character.

A stocky policeman held the front door open for her, and tipped his hat as she passed. Asami nodded back with a polite smile. Snow dusted down from the iron-gray sky and a mecha tank stood against the high fence across the yard. She passed Chief Beifong and Saikhan in the parking lot, walking side by side. Beifong narrowed her eyes, and Saikhan nodded without any change in his stern face.

Asami had found reservation was the best strategy with them, silence and a smile, and that's what she returned. She still had no idea what Tarrlok had on Saikhan that made him go along with it, and while Beifong herself seemed to have some suspicions, Asami's contribution to defeating Amon had helped seal the story against open doubt.

_This will never work, Tarrlok. _

_They'll believe it if you sound certain enough_.

She hated to admit it but she could hear Tarrlok's drawl in her head at times, his dismissive tone leaking into her voice when she spoke with troublesome business partners.

And sometimes, _he _was there too, whispering in her ear. He pointed out the overconfidence of the United Forces general (_he's both royalty and a firebender, play on his thoughtless pride_) and remarked on the insecurity of the police force (_they lost their bending, they'll want powerful machines to back them up). _Thinking like that let her land the contract to supply planes to the UF's new air division, and her gift of five mecha tanks to the Republic City police led to an order for a dozen more. Her smiles when she met with their representatives were carved perfection. _You can be very captivating Asami. _

_Yes, _she thought, sliding the snowflakes from her windshield with a cupped hand, _in more ways than one. _

The insincerity from her prospective partners and buyers, and their occasional efforts at domineering condescension toward what they thought was a confused and lost young lady, were quaint in comparison. But she wasn't made of stone. When a manic billionaire she was courting as a transportation partner laughed that "your pop shoved the world into a whole new era of warfare," she had imagined breaking his nose with the heel of her hand. She'd never wanted to hit people just for making her angry before.

Behind the wheel of the car, Asami tapped her fingernail against her cheek absently.

* * *

She dug her fingers deep in the pockets of her long coat, watching the procession move down the gangway. Bolin spotted her first, and Asami returned his vigorous hailing with a little wave. He jostled Mako, who stumbled and looked at his brother in annoyance before he noticed Asami. Korra looked over to see what the fuss was about and Asami's mouth went dry. Her lungs seemed to close up.

Tenzin glanced down at her. "You don't need to worry. Korra and the rest all know the full story. They don't blame you for anything,"

His robes rippled in the breeze from the bay, and Asami wondered how he wasn't freezing. But she nodded and went back to scratching at the wool inside her pockets. Her friends—former friends—peeled away from the group at the end of the gangway and came to her. Asami held up a hand, but her greeting was choked off in a robust earthbender hug.

"Asamiii!" Bolin squeezed tight before letting her go, and she laughingly caught her breath at last. "I knew you hadn't turned all evil like your Dad."

"Oh. Uh...thanks, Bolin."

Korra and Mako's clasped hands hovered on the edge of her vision and a kind of sick envy filled her. She couldn't have wanted the firebender less, but more recent memories were not fading fast enough and she felt his absence most during sleepless nights and stressful days like these. Wouldn't she love to have an arm about her right now, the feeling of a confident ally by her side? What would she give for the warm knowledge that she wouldn't walk away alone, that she'd have someone to talk to after?

But she'd dropped that in the dust of a storage locker floor, trading it, trading _him _for peace, for the city and its benders. For what was right. "Korra, I'm so sorry about everything. I never wanted to deceive you." The truth fell from her lips easily. "I hope you both can forgive me."

They exchanged a glance, and then Korra spoke. "Of course we do, Asami. I'm sorry too." An air of real peace surrounded her, replacing usual subdued demeanor, and for a moment Asami wished she could confess everything and really ask for Korra's forgiveness.

Mako stood thin-lipped and silent. Was she mistaken or was there suspicion in his closed face? But Korra elbowed him, and he started. "Me too. Sorry Asami."

"I wish I had known what you were doing."

"I couldn't tell anyone." The other two people who had been in that interrogation room with her would back her up. She changed the subject. "I heard you were amazing at the rally. You beat Amon."

Korra rubbed her arm and looked down. "Yeah. You too."

"And she's a full Avatar now, with the glowy stuff and everything," Bolin broke in, pointing at his eyes. "Oh yeah, and she got her bending back."

"That's great," Asami said warmly. She'd heard the news already, but it was a relief to have it confirmed. The sting of culpability was easing with every day. Everything had worked out, and Korra was better off for it_._ "Congratulations."

"Thanks."

They hovered on the edge of friendliness, awkward, until Korra broke loose and hugged Asami. "We should hang out sometime," she said.

Asami nodded, trying to return the embrace with pinned arms. Korra was even stronger than Bolin. "Okay," she gasped.

"Asami, would you like to join us at the Air Temple? We're having a meal to celebrate Korra's return to the city." Tenzin smiled beneath his beard, all paternal, inviting warmth.

"I have to check on my factory," Asami demurred. "Thank you though."

"All right, but you should come by later though. Pema would love to see you."

The offer prodded at an ever-present yearning in her, for crowded lamp-lit rooms filled by friendly faces. For love, for family. Asami nodded. "I will." She wouldn't. There were some painful realities that Tarrlok's soothing revision couldn't fix for her, and for Air Temple Island was one of them.

Bolin slugged her arm and Korra waved goodbye. Asami watched them stroll together down the boardwalk to the ferry's dock. There was a little hollow in her chest where the smiles and laughter of friendship used to belong.

* * *

She stood on an unceremonious crate to be seen, though the turnout was less than twenty—far fewer people than the factory had employed before. Behind the small group, inactive production lines stretched to the door, beside rails that should have held rows of new satomobiles. But how many people could she hope to return after the company's owner had been convicted of terrorism, after Future Industries' products were associated with bombing the United Forces' fleets?

_More will come in time_, she promised herself. Future Industries paid well, these were good jobs and until then, the factory would just have to operate at reduced capacity.

"Thank you all for coming." A reporter stood to the side, scribbling in a flip notebook as Asami launched into her short speech. "As you know, Future Industries has met with some recent challenges…"

She was no Hiroshi, but her audience listened and nodded along and Asami was thankful, even if they were only paying attention out of obligation and sympathy. The real future of her company depended on the people before her, and she would do everything she could to turn their pity to respect over time.

She received a smattering of applause when she concluded. "I'd like to speak to any managers and foremen in my office, but I will see the rest of you bright and early tomorrow morning." She let herself smile widely, sincerely. As long as she looked confident in the company, her employees would feel confident working for her.

She watched them trickle out of the factory and climbed the steel stairway to the balcony, crossing the balcony to her office where "Asami Sato" was painted stark and black on the glass.

No one followed her. Alone, she didn't have to hide the growing concern from her face as she looked down at the now-empty factory from inside the office. She'd been sure at least a few of the overseers would want to come back, and if she didn't have people she could trust to _lead_ production she was going to have an even harder time getting off the ground.

"Ms. Sato?"

Asami turned and for a moment, delight for the person in the doorway swept away all other cares. "Mr. Shu!" On impulse she strode across the room to hug him, and caught herself. She held out her hand instead. "I'm so glad to see you."

"Pretty thin turnout." He clasped her hand. He looked the same as when she'd last seen him, down to the worn cap, but the warmth was absent from his lined face and he had no answering smile for her.

Asami faltered, and retreated to genteel politeness. "It's unfortunate, but I expected it. After all, Dad—"

Shu shook his head. "It's not what you think." He passed her, going to the windows.

"You ever notice something about Future Industries?" he asked conversationally, putting his hands in his pockets. "It's bending-free. Your dad made the whole operation independent of benders."

Asami joined him, looking down on the darkened rows. "It uses the city power grid. That's lightning."

"Nope. The place runs on generators. Mr. Sato was ready for the day the firebenders all cleared out."

"You mean once they lost their bending."

Shu shrugged. "I suppose. It's a good job for non-benders here, though. Pays well, steady work, and your dad was a big believer in giving people a chance to move up. It attracted a lot of smart people."

"Uh-huh."

He gave her a sidelong glance. "People who thought about things, if you catch my drift. Their place in the world."

"Oh." There was a sudden lump in her throat. "How many of them were..." She trailed off.

"A lot."

"You know I never meant to—"

He held up a hand. "Not my business. I read about what happened in the city. Seems to me like a lot of people could've ended up questioning their beliefs after that." He rapped a knuckle against the glass. "I know I did."

He turned to face Asami squarely and folded his arms over his chest. "But going back to the 'status-quo' as my son likes to say, isn't an improvement in most people's minds."

"The city is making changes."

"Sure they are." His grimace said it all.

She'd read the stories about the Triad skirmishes in the absence of their leaders; about the incidents of retaliation against non-benders who'd had nothing to do with the Equalists. _At least the curfew was repealed._ But Asami was at a loss. "Well...did Wen get my letter?"

The frown deepened. "Yeah. He almost threw it out."

"But it would be perfect for him," she said helplessly. "Like you said, I need smart people, and I know he'd be so good at detailed reports. If he's worried about safety for test pilots..."

"You know he's not." Shu shook his head again. "It's what you did Asami. It hurt him."

This conversation was the last thing she wanted to live through. Asami covered her eyes. "It was never personal. I don't have anything against him. Or any of you."

"Everything about the Equalists was personal with Wen. Anyway..." Shu shifted his weight foot to foot with an unusual look of discomfort. "I came to deliver a message."

Her hand fell. A chill ran down the back of her neck. Letters came every week with threats, from _both_ sides. Nothing had ever come of it, that didn't mean nothing ever would. She backed away to her desk, where she kept a glove stashed in the top drawer. "And that is?"

Shu made a noise of exasperation. "Don't get excited, girl. It's not that kind of message. I'm here to let you know that we're watching."

Her oldest friend really wasn't here out of any kindness, or even pity and another warm light of the past flickered and dimmed. "Not that kind of message, huh?" She left her hand on the drawer's handle.

"People want to come back. Future Industries is a good job. But the company is led by you now, not your father."

The comment joined the others of its kind, bunched up within her. "I know I'm not my father." She repeated it like a mantra. "My father is insane."

"Says the girl who put him away." Shu removed his cap and ran a hand over his gray hair. "Look Asami, people think this is a trap. You spied for the city and handed Amon over to them, and now you've issued an open invitation for everyone to come back to their jobs? Something stinks."

Asami slapped the desktop in sudden frustration. "It's not a trap!" She dropped into the chair and put her head in her hands. "I just need to get the company going again. It's easier to hire people who already know how to do the work here. Okay? I don't care about their politics or their past."

Shu watched her for a moment, and then nodded approvingly. "I figured as much. I'll make sure word gets around." He replaced his cap. "They want to come back. Future Industries is a good job, like I said. You should have a few more managers showing up tomorrow."

"Thank you." Her reply was automatic, empty; ruined by resentment at the network of Equalists apparently watching her, judging her as_ not your father _and _the girl who put him away_. They would still lionize him, the man who built a new generation of war machines for his personal revenge, who took his grief out on an entire population. The man who disowned his daughter in the middle of a trial, raging at her betrayal until the Fire Nation's representative called a recess.

Afterward, a reporter has asked if she hoped to reconcile with her father. Asami had laughed incredulously at the question and her reaction became a news story in itself, about how pragmatic and hardhearted Asami Sato was. She'd learned then that her personal feelings were no longer fit for public display.

"Tell Wen the offer still stands." She stood, and held out a hand. "I mean it."

Shu shook her hand again. "I don't doubt it, Ms. Sato."

Asami rubbed her temples as he left, letting the surge of temper recede before turning to the paperwork on the desk. She spent the next few hours in silence, going through her father's books and papers, trying to find more threads of order in the chaos. He'd run the company for so long that he had his own systems for keeping track of projects and even after a month of work she was still so far behind on everything. She hadn't even known about the _generators_.

A twinge suggested she _should_ try seeing him, asking his advice...and maybe he'd finally be pleased with her and flattered enough to forgive her, and then things would be—the thought threatened to become another troublesome ache and Asami crushed it. She wasn't going to subject herself to that wrath again, or give him the satisfaction of thinking she needed him. She didn't.

She managed to make a few ordered stacks, and looked around. The lamp on her desk turned the windows into mirrors and her semi-translucent reflection stared back at her, hollow-eyed.

She looked past it to the factory floor. It was all parallel lines and right angles, a blueprint for order and efficiency. Shu had been right; Future Industries was solid work for non-benders, providing jobs that required ordinary dexterity, strength and smarts. She'd never seen it that way before and now she'd never be able to see it as otherwise.

The mansion's staff was retired for the evening by the time her tires crunched up the drive, but Asami left the car out front for someone else to put away in the morning. Almost all the Sato Estate's employees had returned, and she wanted to think it was loyalty—but domestic servants had even fewer options than factory workers, even if they had been Equalists, and they could very well have nowhere else to go.

Everywhere she turned, Asami found she was useful again, a source of money and jobs, security and technology. It didn't feel as good as she remembered.

She had a few papers to drop off in her home office. Asami wound her way up the stairs and padded down the hall, her steps muffled by the carpet. It'd always been just her and Dad here but the only other time the mansion had felt so empty was just after her mother had died. _Murdered. She was murdered. _Asami shook her head to chase the thought away. Concocting new ways to be bitter helped nothing either.

His office was smaller without her father, the desk almost cramped. It was nothing like the huge wooden fort she used to play under when she was young. The luster of assurance and industry was missing as well; it was just a desk, the blotter worn by her father's elbows, the drawers chipped where his chair had knocked into them again and again.

She wondered why he'd kept such an old thing when he could have gotten a new one every year_, _and realized it had to be the same reason her father hung on to anything from the past, for some connection to her mother. _And now I'm doing the same. _She wouldn't replace the desk either. So much was lost in the years, she had to keep hold of whatever good memories she could.

Asami dropped her purse on the blotter. It tipped over as she perched on the overlarge chair and the folded tabloid slid out. –_Love After All? _

She made a face at it. _Of course it wasn't_. That was just someone's sordid imagination running wild, like all the rumors that had spread after Tarrlok's story.

_Repeat after me. When I learned of your contact with Hiroshi Sato, I used the pretext of an official investigation to propose a dangerous plan. The threat from Amon and the Equalists was growing and we needed to get an edge on them_...

When she'd pushed him on his real reasons for helping her, Tarrlok had snapped, "Do _you_ want to stay in a cell forever?" and she'd let it go. He seemed to genuinely enjoy constructing his lie, picking up the facts strewn about and placing them in his new version of events. _She would report on the Equalists' activities to me alone. Unfortunately, my incident with the Avatar disrupted things and Ms. Sato was left to fend for herself_. He'd repeated it in a steady cadence, to the police, to the press, and to the retiring council, like the ocean washing the shore, lulling them all into believing his patent lies. His manner reminded Asami too much of Amon, but her freedom had depended on her nodding and agreeing. _She was facing suspicion from her father and others. She did what she had to do to stay in Amon's inner circle._

_What I had to do. _Asami closed her eyes and lifted the tabloid, pinching it between her fingertips. It wasn't going to be pleasant to see her personal life rehashed and speculated over again, but she was coming to understand that life in the public eye was rarely pleasant or easy. Life_ itself _was rarely pleasant or easy, for anyone. The time before, the way her old life had been—happiness had been the real falsehood, the comfortable deceit. Struggle and heartache like this were more in keeping with hard reality.

She could try to weather it all out and let her will and courage erode through lonely days and nights spent hoping for the past to return; or she could face the losses with clear eyes and cast the storm back at the world with a sweet smile.

Asami unfolded the paper and began reading.


	17. Epilogue

The tires skidded as she rounded the last corner. Asami could feel the the racecar threatening to lift sideways and she braced her free foot against the floor, fought to keep the steering wheel in place and the moment she'd cleared the turn, she jammed the gearshift back up for the final sprint and shot over the finish line. She held the brake and the car spun around in a squeal of tires, until it lurched and swayed to a stop. Her pulse raced freely ahead and her grin was pure and real, a product of nearly tangible exhilaration.

The finish wasn't quite as sweet without a defeated party behind her, though. Her competitor had retired before the fall of evening, after losing six times to Asami's sleek yellow bolt of lightning—a Model S prototype, one-of-a-kind—and she'd been left to careen around the track alone, chasing one last swell of victory in the only place she knew it could be found.

She clambered out of the seat and waved away the thin dust cloud before lifting the helmet off. The smell of rubber tinged the air and she inhaled deeply, stretching her arms over her head. She needed to return the car to the garage, but the sun was setting in pink and blue behind shredded clouds, and she wanted to stay out in the cool spring air a little longer. A stuffy office waited for her inside, along with a stack of business correspondence that she'd been putting off for weeks. She turned to drop the helmet onto the seat and spotted a crewman in a flat Future Industries cap by the spectator stands, resting on his forearms over the barrier.

"I thought you'd all gone home," she called out, leaning over the steering wheel to get the keys from the ignition. She jogged them in her palm, jangling noisily as she headed over to him. "Do you think you could put the S away for me?"

He didn't reply as she approached, or even move, and Asami stopped in her tracks. The air became thin and sharp around her. The angry letters had become poorly written postcards, and they only came a few times a month now, but the fading light reduced the man to a threat, waiting still and ready.

"Who are you?" she asked from a few meters away.

The sleeves of his plain tan jumpsuit were rolled up to his elbows; his shoulders looked broad. _Earthbender,_ Asami decided. She clenched her fists and stalked forward on her toes, ready for the ground to start shifting. The intruder must have filched the uniform from one of the garages. As soon as he attacked, she was going to make him eat it.

Proximity brought out the scraps of dark hair escaping the hat, and then the slim hands and Asami slowed. But she went on walking toward him with her heart now in her throat, waiting for her legs to seize and her chest to convulse and clench.

Nothing happened. She stopped on the other side of the barrier and put a hand on her hip. "What are you doing here?"

He straightened. "I came to see you."

Could he sense her scattered heartbeat? Asami lifted her hands in a broad shrug. "Well, here I am."

He tipped the hat from his head and held it loosely at his side. His hair was longer, and a small, treacherous part of her appreciated the way it looked on him.

"I need to put the car away." She turned on her heel and went back the way she came, keeping her eyes on the sleek car, on her escape and her freedom. When she heard the steps behind her, she thought about breaking into a run and diving into the driver's seat.

She found herself slowing until he was at her side, still silent.

Her feelings were a slurry that gave no direction or appropriate reaction for the situation. "You're not here for anything else?" she asked in the most casual tone she could muster. "Like revenge, maybe? If so, you'll have to get in line."

"No," said Noatak. "I'm not here for that."

Asami pivoted left and walked around the rear of the racecar to reach the other side. He stopped opposite her, but the narrow body between them left him within arm's reach. "I did think about it. I was angry for some time."

Incensed anger of her own broke through her nerves. "I don't regret it." She glared at him.

"I wouldn't expect you to."

She snatched the helmet from the seat. "I'm _not _sorry."

His eyebrows drew together and he looked past her, over her head. "That makes two of us."

Asami braced her hands on the sides of the car and lifted her legs up and over, dropping into the driver's seat. The helmet went on her lap and the keys in the ignition. She shoved her mood into the revving engine and pointed ahead to the garage, raising her voice. "I'm going there. Do whatever you want."

She shifted too forcefully and pressed too hard on the gas and the car lurched forward to her dismay. _Not here, not with him._ She made herself putter slowly—_smoothly_—toward the garage_._ She'd gotten so good at hiding these things from the world, he wasn't going to get the privilege of upsetting her.

She turned left on the asphalt drive to the garage and let the car roll through the middle door into the building. Another prototype sat in the spot to the right, surrounded by racks of equipment, waiting for the professional crew to take it out tomorrow. A new roadster, topless, gleaming black, was on the left. That one was hers to test; she'd seen to that. There were perks to owning her own company.

She shut the engine off and got out again. Noatak stood at the threshold. Dusk spilled past him to illuminate the spacious garage in dusty pink. "The last time I followed you into an enclosed space it ended badly for me."

Asami's head snapped to him. "Did it?"

"I lost a city." He was solemn.

There it was, that obscure hurt that she hadn't missed. Of _course_ it was the city that mattered. She found a rag on a shelf and wiped the helmet off before putting it up. "It was never yours. The Equalists would have torn it apart. You're blind if you still can't see that. She made a show of tending to the car's body with the cloth next. From the corner of her eye, she saw him lay a hand on the side of the wide doorway.

"I was doing what was right," he said.

"So was I," Asami informed the rag, rubbing vigorously.

"Which time?"

Asami flapped the cloth down and sat against the racecar's back. "I told you already I'm not sorry. If you want me to feel bad for what I did, you're going to be waiting a long time."

"Of course not. You were fulfilling a mission after all. Spying on me for Tarrlok's task force. Admirable, until Tarrlok's downward spiral sent it awry."

Was there a flaw in that featureless low voice, a ripple of feeling? "That's—" _Right, s_he was tempted to say, to leave it there and let him keep thinking she'd never cared. "That was a lie."

"I know," he said. "Tarrlok told me."

"What? When?"

Noatak took a single step into the garage and looked up and around. "I went to see him a few weeks ago, to get him out of prison. He wouldn't come."

Tarrlok wouldn't have had a chance to tell her, but she had an abstract notion that he should have told the guards about Amon trying to break him out. Not that she really blamed him for keeping his silence.

There was a wary tension in Noatak, like a nervous cat deer. That odd, unfamiliar confidence she'd found in the tower jail cell came creeping back iver her. "Did you just come to stand around?"

"I wanted to see you." A dart of genuine honesty, but he folded his arms behind his back and it was buried beneath arctic remoteness again.

Asami cocked her hip with a fist on it. "You said that."

He went back to studying the contents of the garage. "It was easier when I was younger."

"What?"

His shoulders rose and fell. "I don't want to be here."

The casual string of non sequiturs infuriated her. "What is _that_ supposed to mean?" she snapped. "If you want to go, then _leave._"

"I don't want to _be_ here, Asami," repeated Noatak. "But…" His hands dropped to his sides. "I find myself here anyway."

He blinked and turned around. The track outside had been overtaken by long shadows. "You seem to be alone quite often," he observed.

"How would you know?" Asami shifted to a better stance, searching for wariness of her own.

"I've followed the stories," said Noatak, still facing away. "Since I left Tarrlok, my circuits of the city have...wound up tracing around you, the places you go."

"Great," said Asami. "Now you're stalking me? You sure you aren't out to get back at me?"

He swung around with a tight look of irritation. His mouth opened once and closed, and he drew a hand down over his face. "No, Asami, it's—" He lowered his hand. "Doesn't it trouble you—to be alone? I've noticed you rarely associate with the Avatar or those pro-benders. Have they not forgiven you?"

"They all understood once they heard Tarrlok's story," she said uncomfortably. "'I've been really busy trying to keep the company going. And it's just hard to get back to the way things were before."

He took a step forward. "You mean before you had to lie to them to earn their trust and forgiveness."

His tone reminded her of Tarrlok, every word weighted down with hateful implications."Yes, I lied to them, about all of it," she said bluntly. "Are you happy _Noatak_? I'm as bad as you, and despite trying to do the right thing everything in my life is just as bad as it was before." She sniffed and held her elbows, staring at a crack in the smooth concrete. "Yes, it bothers me being alone all the time. But what do you care?"

"Because I—I don't know." He seemed to be struggling with himself and a suggestion of hoarseness shaded his words. "I never wanted to make you suffer, Asami."

To her horror, the bland words made her choke up again. It was an unacceptable response and she swallowed and touched a fingertip to the corner of each eye. "Whatever."

"I mean it."

She pulled off her jacket, refusing to look at him. "You know there's a non-bender president now," she said, slapping dust out of the cloth. "And the council is gone. Things have changed, and it didn't require taking everyone's bending, or even bombing the city."

"If you think that those changes would have happened without the Equalists…"

Asami rolled her eyes. "Spare me. I've heard it. I'm not buying it anymore."

"But you're selling it. To the United Republic, and to the city."

Asami flapped the jacket one last time. "You mean the tanks and the planes? That's different."

"Is it?"

"They're the good guys," she retorted. "I never said I was perfect, and what my company sells doesn't just erase what you tried to do."

Noatak looked aside. The frown in his profile was a far cry from the curled satisfaction of the mask. "I thought it would be Tarrlok," he said at last.

"I'm getting tired of asking what you mean. Try making sense for once."

He glanced over and met her eyes for a half-second before lowering his gaze. "I didn't expect it from you. But Tarrlok...I could believe he'd try it. He'd made his feelings about the anti-bending revolution clear."

"I made my feelings clear too." Asami held the jacket to her chest with crossed arms and tapped her foot. "Several times."

His gaze was absently fixed on the roadster's tires. A spark jumped somewhere deep in her mind. "Tarrlok also made his feelings about _me_ clear," said Noatak. "I knew he would be hard to bring around but I thought you, at the end of the day—" His lips tightened. "It doesn't matter."

Asami jumped up and tossed the jacket aside to stride over to him. "You believed what? That I'd just go along with whatever you wanted?" A tangle of hurt and resentment rose from where she'd tied it down, breaking free all at once. "That I didn't have any morals of my own? That I would just _agree _to taking everyone's bending? Do you even know what it's like to be bloodbent? Especially by someone you trust?"

His eyes cut to the side again. "No."

"Figures." Asami touched her chest over her heart. "It's one of the worst things I've ever felt. It's awful."

A long silence unfurled between them as Asami stared up at his face. And then his eyes closed. "I'm sorry," said Noatak.

She could barely hear it. "That's it? You're sorry for what?" She poked him in the chest, imperious and indignant. "That you did it or just that it upset me?"

Noatak looked down at her finger with a knit brow. His hand closed around hers and drew it away slowly until Asami yanked it back. "No tricks this time," she snapped. She stepped back and held out her hands with fingers splayed. "See? No glove."

He fixed his gaze on her, his eyes the color of a half-clouded sky. His face was furrowed in concentration, or perhaps dismay. "Tarrlok said there was little hope for me. That I'd never understand how you were hurt by what I did."

Her throat hurt. "I'd agree with that."

"Then—Asami—I am sorry that you—that I let you down." It was broken, uneven; as if he were picking his way through a complex, unknown hazard. "That I hurt you. I truly am."

He barely knew what an apology was. Asami wanted to pound her fist into the wall, or maybe into him. Her voice cracked when she spoke. "Thanks. It doesn't make up for you bloodbending me, so go run away again, I don't care."

She'd made a mistake in getting so close to him, inside the sphere that held memories and smells and sensations; too close to see clearly like she should. Amon was dead, but Noatak was nearly everything she remembered of him and she would rather he fought her, and showed something other than these flashes of weakness that made her pity him in spite of everything.

It helped nothing to see the same pain as hers dash across his face before vanishing. "I wasn't planning to stay," he said.

"You'd better not." On a cruel whim, Asami placed her hand back on his chest, flat and firm this time, daring him to take it away again. For the first time, she noticed a shadow of stubble along his jaw. Another spark jumped. She should chase him off, or trap him again and make it _stick_ this time. She should call the police, because the city deserved justice. "Korra can energybend. If you get caught again, they'll either execute you or take your bending."

"I know." His voice thrummed under her palm.

"It would be pretty ironic if you lost your bending, don't you think?"

His chest rose with a deep breath, and Asami sensed another spiel coming on, something about how he was _chosen_ and _doing the right thing._ But he let the air out. "I suppose it would be."

There were a lot of _shoulds _crowding around the moment. Clouds of those followed her everywhere. Should she ever tell people the truth? Should she really sell the mecha tanks? Should she have hired Equalists at the factory? Asami had learned to ignore them. There was only what needed to be done and what she wanted to do, and the balance between those imperatives.

And right now, she felt no need to see Noatak dead or in prison grays. Amon was gone for good, and he'd have a hard time starting up another revolution. Even the joint United Forces and police search for him was winding down; Korra had confided to her a few days ago that the new administration wanted to put the conflict between benders and non-benders behind the city.

Bloodbending was a crime of course, and his incredible skill made him dangerous—but then he'd never wanted to learn it in the first place. If Hiroshi had raised her as an Equalist, would she have ever known to fight back like Noatak had?

"I don't expect you to forgive me," Noatak murmured. "But I forgive you."

Asami's hand dropped. "I don't need your forgiveness," she spat. "_I did the right thing_."

Another long, slow sigh. "Most people seem to agree."

"Then how many times do I have to say it?"

"No more. I misspoke. Say instead that I truly don't hold a grudge. Tarrlok pointed out that I don't especially have a right to."

Asami laughed. "Oh, I'd say that. Do you actually regret any of it?"

His hand hovered by her cheek, a move that was audacious in the extreme. Asami allowed it, reserving the right to cast him off later. "Some," he admitted.

"Bloodbending me?"

"Yes."

"Because I turned against you."

"No. Maybe."

"Trusting me, then?"

"Never. Asami...I regret hurting you, and making you unhappy." His hand drifted back over her hair. "I regret making you unhappy with me. As for the rest…"

Asami went on her toes and kissed him.

She half-expected that he'd shove her away. He tensed instead, and she drew back with a disappointment she'd never show. "I guess I promised no tricks, didn't—"

But he ducked down with a returning brush of lips; much more cautious than hers had been, closed. It was a scant response, but she felt his fingers weaving gently through her hair, and an arm closing lightly around her back. The leap in her heart and fire in her stomach were fiercer sensations than any she'd felt in the last six months.

It was slower and less heated than she'd imagined during restless, strained nights, and it wasn't enough. She pressed in and he broke away with a small puff of breath. He turned his face aside as he held her tighter. "I've missed you, Asami," he said.

Given their position, it was possible he only meant certain things; but Asami felt the same either way and it was like binds loosening to hear him say it. "I missed you too." How long had it been since she'd been honest like that?

But he moved away when she tried to kiss him again. "Not here."

"Why not?" The sparks were dancing now, and she saw plainly what she—they—needed to do. She pulled on his shirt, drawing him further into the garage.

He said nothing, but pulled her hands away again with a shaky breath. "Asami…"

"The car is right there. No one comes out here." Her heart was racing now, and she smiled at him encouragingly but he still shook his head. "Why not?" she asked again; but the answer was already coming to her, warring with delicious instinct and winning, dragging her back to earth. Throwing herself at him is what had led to most of her problems in the first place, and would she regret getting so close to him again? His mutterings before might be the only apology she could hope for from him, and they weren't enough, were they? She needed more than a whisper. Maybe nothing would ever be enough.

"I guess it might be too soon,' she mumbled, although part of her shrieked in disappointment. She'd been _so close..._

Even if he wasn't sorry _enough_, she knew he meant what he'd said and that he'd never dare hurt her again and what if this was the last time she ever saw him? The plaintive thought had her leaning against him once more. "Will you stick around?" she whispered.

"I can't stay." His voice was muffled in her hair.

"I know," she said unhappily.

He sighed then, with voiceless words lost in her hair. She pretended not to hear for both their sakes because he was more than these velvet moments to her, so much more than heady abandonment to pleasure, but it was bad enough seeing such things in the headlines. "Business is picking up. I'll have to travel a lot for work," she said, squeezing her eyes shut. "The Earth Kingdom, the Fire Nation. Wherever."

"Do you have an agenda?"

"Not yet. I'll figure something out," Asami said. Possibilities were already surging through her—no one else knew what he really looked like, the media wasn't interested in her current love life—she traveled alone...Amon was gone, the pageantry and the costume lost, and she didn't know if this could last in shadows without the fire of the revolution behind it; but there was a strange joy in seeing him now, in the consolation of the quiet aftermath unwinding. With everything behind them, the wounds scabbed over and scarring, she could enjoy him on equal ground at last. Whatever he had done or tried to do was in the past, and if she couldn't quite forgive him—well she was no pure spirit herself.

"Then I look forward to your solution." He kissed the top of her head. Asami curled her hand on his chest. It wasn't quite love and it wasn't quite happiness to have him with her, she decided, but it was close enough. Neither of them would be quite so alone.

Asami let go of Noatak, and claimed one last victory for the day.


End file.
